


Paper

by britishngay



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, I think?, Office AU, Pining, Smut, babey - Freeform, but they're not like Jim or pam or anything sorry, emotions basically - everyone's feeling things, it is what it is, so much of it, that office is... Dunder mifflin, the pining, they work in an office... shit happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishngay/pseuds/britishngay
Summary: Working at a paper company is just as boring as it sounds.You get up at the ass-crack of dawn to get to Westerberg’s Dunder Mifflin branch. Well, it’s not dawn but you can't help but be pretty damn dramatic when you spend your days selling paper. Paper. Reams and hole punched or printer paper or lined or plain or card or coloured or god it’s just so boring and dull.(Or they're both salesmen at a paper company and stuff happens)
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 114
Kudos: 364





	1. Chapter 1

Working at a paper company is just as boring as it sounds.

You get up at the ass-crack of dawn to get to Westerberg’s Dunder Mifflin branch. Well, it’s not dawn but you help but be pretty damn dramatic when you spend your days selling paper. Paper. Reams and hole punched or printer paper or lined or plain or card or coloured or god it’s just so boring and _dull_ , but it’s the only job going in the city and no one will let you be a journalist with no experience – which is bullshit but you can’t get angry at the only people who may potentially hire you. You spend all day talking to people about paper, what type to buy for which printer, convincing them that they do need a dozen more of the crisp, almost the same as you bought last time but it’s different and new and you have to sell a whole load of it or Flemming will put you in overtime.

At least you get some of Martha’s left overs from the restaurant for lunch most days, you think, standing on the bus with Sleater-Kinney blasting through your headphones. You try to get yourself slightly excited, maybe today you’ll be able to eat lunch without JD cornering you about how much he hates this job - which, come on, everyone hates their job here – except maybe McNamara, but she’s preppy at 8:30am so you can’t really trust her. Maybe today you can sit in your cubicle and write an article for a competition to get experience so that a paper will hire you without Flemming catching you for once. Maybe the coffee in the breakroom won’t taste like tar and maybe the milk won’t be off so you won’t have to choke down it down black – although that’s the least likely of your hopes for today.

The bus lurches to a stop and the it feels like half the bus falls into you, and it gets even worse when you have to scoot out of there, throwing in as many apologies as you can before someone rolls their eyes at you and you almost jump out the bus. Finally, fresh air, that you won’t be allowed to breathe for another 5-7 hours. God this job is the worst. Even though you had a coffee less than half an hour ago you can feel it’s affects waning. You check your watch, it’s asymmetrical, the twelve doesn’t hit the middle of your strap, it always annoys you but you never change it, you’ve got a good half an hour to get your computer booted up, have some shitty coffee and prepare your selling voice before the day sets off. Being late stresses you out, it makes you sweaty and nervous and it’s detrimental to your shitty shitty job. You wave at the security guard, who salutes back and, thankfully you’re alone in the elevator, waiting for the third floor. You get to your cubicle without running into anyway, thank god. The only good thing, apart from the ability to pay off your student loans, is working by an empty cubicle so you’re free from working with the likes of Sweeney or Kelly. Your need for caffeine makes you move for the breakroom, but of course McNamara is by the coffee machine, you take a full minute staring at the breakrooms glass door, deciding if the small talk is worth the shitty coffee. Unfortunately, the need to put your lunch in the fridge and the desire for energy wins out. You take a deep breathe before entering the room.

“Ronnie!” Oh yeah, that’s another thing, McNamara never calls anyone by their actual names, it somehow ends up being a nickname that no ones called you since Middle School. “Happy Monday!”

“You know most people hate Mondays?” You say, rifling through the cupboards for that one mug that you love, a blue mug with Penn State’s logo on it. You find it and turn to see her, covered head-to-toe in yellow like she always is. It’s never the nice, muted yellow either, it’s always bright and bubbly, just like her you suppose. You suppose that you can’t be too critical, considering your closet only consists of different shades of blue, but at least blue’s a nice colour, yellow’s just, too much. You put your lunch in the fridge, knowing that it’s going to be delightful, Martha’s one hell of a chef and her spaghetti is to die for, needless to say, lunch is your favorite time of the day – if JD doesn’t corner you.

“Yeah, but it’s the ideas behind it! If you think you’ll like it, you’ll like them more!” How is she so excited at, you look at the clock, 8:37 in the morning? You manage to fill your mug while she tells you about her weekend, she got a new cat and her wife pretended to hate the cat but she really loves the cat. She sees you’re done with the machine and waves you goodbye, blowing you a kiss on the way out, with far too much prep in her step. Ugh that rhymed, she must be rubbing off on you.

The coffee doesn’t taste like complete ass today, Betty must’ve made it. Betty is the only one you would really call a friend in this whole place, and even that was a bit far-fetched, but you know she feels the same way. She’s in the closest cubicle to you and has your back if Flemming chews you out in a meeting, you do the same but you never try to see each other outside of work, you know the boundaries. Speaking of Betty, she waves you over to her desk and you feel some of the tension leave your body from seeing someone you actually, genuinely like.

“I heard that there’s someone new getting transferred to the office, just warning, that free cubicle may be going.” You groan, that was the best thing about working here and it’s getting taken from you?

“How come I didn’t know this?”

“I thought one of your core characteristics is your inability to remember to check your email.” You close your eyes and sigh, this is _just_ what you need right now, you think bitterly. Between barely seeing your best friend and being stuck in this office for too much of your life you don’t need the one good thing gone.

“Of course there was an email.”

“They said they’re coming tomorrow so you’re free for one more day – savor it while you can.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, a wry smile coming to your face, Betty’s a good one.

“Yeah right Finn, thanks for the heads up.” You start to head over to your cubicle, Betty giving you a thumbs up and turning back to her screen. She works in the accountants section, lucky for her, the section aren’t complete assholes and she gets to play solitaire on the computer without Flemming checking up on her every ten seconds.

After that the day moves like it normally does, in a flurry of calling other offices and companies to sell them more paper than they want because, you can be pretty damn persuasive when you want to be. As much as you hate to say, you are actually pretty good at this job, you convinced a chain hotel to buy almost twice as much paper as they actually need because ‘holiday’s are coming up’, it’s the middle of January. The closest holiday is Valentine’s and you really think that it shouldn’t be counted as a holiday. And it’s not because you’ve been single for over a year, that’s nothing to do with it. Besides, you like being single, and the sex, you don’t miss the sex – well, maybe a little bit, but that doesn’t matter. You’re moving your career forward even though it’s currently stagnant. But you firmly believe that it won’t be still for that much longer, hopefully.

It’s when you’re walking to the breakroom for lunch when you see McNamara with her headset, repeating the same customer service spiel while going through the different callers that you thank whatever God there is that you’re not in customer service. She does it pretty damn well though. You don’t get cornered by JD at lunch, which you take as a complete win, Flemming only glares at you twice and you only go for a smoke break once. All in all, not the worst day you’ve had at the office, but it’s also extremely, very, incredibly similar to the rest of your days. You leave, almost as soon as the clock strike five, just like most of the office – even McNamara. Only Courtney stays after five, and that’s just because she almost allergic to coming into work on time and Flemming likes to punish her.

The bus is somehow even fuller on the way back home and the air is just as stale and hot as it is every other goddamn day. There’s the same couple of people she’s sees most days, the woman with grey hair and a nice blouse who almost always gets a seat, the teenager in a Burger King polo shirt who looks like he’s about to collapse after standing up. The usual suspects. There’s always at least on person on the phone, and they always manage to piss everyone off by their third stop. Thankfully, your stop isn’t that far so you’re quickly free from the pain of the bus. As much as you

You’re excited to see Martha, then you remember that it’s Monday and that she has a shift from half an hour ago until 3am, it makes you sadder than you’d like to admit. You sigh and kick your shoes off, knowing that you’ll trip over them in the morning but not finding it in yourself to care.

Martha left some fancy fish dish with a sticky note with a smiley face and a kiss on it and your heart warms of a second. Then you watch reality tv alone, with reheated food and a glass of wine.

The fact that you’re all alone bothers you more than you’d like to think.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re running late.

Not late enough to get in trouble like Courtney, but late enough to makes you incredibly uncomfortable and sweaty as you walk through the doors and wave to Ben, the security guard. And it’s not even the normal, the bus is absolutely boiling compared to the freezing mid-January weather sweat, it’s the I-ran-for-the-bus-and-regretted-it-immediately-because-the-bus-driver-didn’t-even-let-me-on kinda sweat. You blazer is thick and heavy and making the whole situation worse but your shirt has a hole in it, which is fine for when you’re at your desk halfway through the day, but not when there’s a new person showing up who will probably be right next to you for six hours a day.

At least the breakroom is free so you don’t have to hear about McNamara’s wife and cats, you wouldn’t mind her if it wasn’t, fuck, 8:50. Your computer takes at least 5 minutes to wake up because the company is real cheap and Flemming is a real asshole about starting on time, also you just like to make sure you have enough time. You turn on the computer and rush to get some of coffee before anyone else gets in there.

“Veronica, email!” Betty almost yells to you when you’re going to desk, you give her a thumbs up and, thankfully the computer has booted up. You find the email and start reading. New person joining office, in the sales department, Veronica Sawyer come to my office at nine. Fuck, you should buy Betty something for this, or not, you’ll think it over later. Thankfully, your sweat has stopped in the obvious places, but your hands and underarms are unfortunately, still uncomfortable. You drink some more of your coffee, god it’s bad, Sweeney must’ve made it. How can coffee even be made as bad as this? It’s literally bean water. Bean water. When will people buy milk that’s not out of date? And how the hell does Betty drink it? Oh yeah ‘my stomach is impenetrable Veronica, nothing can get past it’. You guess that you could buy the milk, but you’ve gotten used to the complaining.

You make it to Flemming’s door with one minute to spare, for her being on time is late. Her Venetian blinds are closed so you know whatever’s on the other side of the door is really, really, not good. She likes to have her blinds open to stare at those not working, for a woman who only wears hippie clothes and smiles like a guidance councilor she really is terrifying. You take a deep breath and knock.

“Come in.”

You open the door, there’s a woman sitting one of the seats opposite Flemming’s desk. She’s got blonde curls that never seem to stop tied up in a red scrunchie with a plain white shirt and, from what you can see, red straight edge trousers. This must be the new person.

“Ah, Veronica, I’d like you to meet Heather Chandler, she’s going to be working in the cubicle next to yours.” She says with one of those shark grins, looking at you over her glasses with the little necklace attached. “She’s just transferred from Washington DC.” The woman finally turns and looks at you. She has one of those faces that seems to always have a frown, her eyes show superiority as she looks at you up and down, boy if you weren’t sweating before. She crinkles her nose slightly while taking you in, then she lifts her head and offers her hand. You shake it, hard and strong, just like your Dad taught you, she does the same. You’re glad that you wiped your hand on your skirt before you came in because she’s the kind of person who would hate sweaty hands with a passion, well, no one likes sweaty hands but she’d exploit it as a character flaw or some shit. She turns back to Flemming with a dramatic twist of her head and sits back down, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Why does she think she’s above you? You work at the same dumbass paper company.

“As well as being the closest cubicle worker to you,” Flemming starts, and she’s got that look in her face which means that she has a plan which is good for her and the _worst_ for everyone else. “Veronica is the best salesman on our branch.” Heather turns her head to look at you, of course she’s gorgeous, blue eyes that cut right through you, showing no emotion. Her lipstick is not up to company policy but Flemming obviously hasn’t said anything, or she has but Heather doesn’t care. You don’t know what’s worse if you’re honest. She raises her eyebrow, she’s clearly not impressed with what she sees. The look in her eyes implies that she doesn’t think that you’ll be the top salesman for long, she’s ready to take your crown. By all means go ahead you mythic bitch, you’ve worked hard here. You hate it, but you’re pretty good at it, she’s gonna have to be one hell of a smooth talker to topple your record.

“And that is why she’ll be showing you the ropes.”

What? You haven’t even talked to the woman and you _know_ her opinions on you.

“I know how to talk to customers, I’m a transfer, not a new hire.” She says through gritted teeth, her knuckles are white from grabbing the arm of the chair. This woman _cannot_ handle her anger, you find yourself slightly scared, she reminds you of the girls in High School who thought they were the top of the food chain, when it was only created by them to either increase their shitty self-esteem of they were just shitty people. It’s hard to tell the difference.

“It’s different in Ohio, now I think it’s time to get to work, paper isn’t going to sell itself.”

“With all due respect-“

“Now Chandler.” Flemming cowers slightly at the glare that Heather throws her way but she doesn’t back down. Heather all but storms out, but waits for you at the door, you’re guessing because she doesn’t know where to go. Hey you were right, she’s wearing long straight edge red trousers and a pair of black heels – which also aren’t up to company policy. She stands there for a second, her lips pursed, her arms crossed and her foot tapping. You deliberately spend longer than necessary closing the door, just to watch her twitch a bit.

“This way Chandler.”

“My name is Heather.”

“You’re the third Heather we have here, to avoid confusion, we call them by all by the surnames.”

She rolls her eyes, maybe they’ll get stuck if she does it enough. You gesture to your cubicle and hers right next to it, a few people pop their head around theirs to see the new person, god this is just like being in school again.

“Here’s my cubicle, that’s yours. Do you want to meet the others?” You gesture to Sweeney and Kelly, who are staring at Chandler like she’s a piece of meat. You don’t like her, but you wouldn’t wish the wonder boys on anyone.

“Does it look like I’m here to make friends?” She says, a sneer still intact, you ignore her and carry on talking.

“Are these the same phones as the ones in DC?”

“I can handle this by myself, I don’t need a babysitter who can’t even dress themselves properly.”

Ouch, that kinda hurt. But you know that rising to her is just what she wants so she’ll have control over you, just like all those girls in school. You lean in to talk to her.

“I don’t know what your deal is but I’m not here to make your life hell, I’m sure this job does that enough.” You lean back and see her face turning as red as her goddamn trousers. This goddamn job and this goddamn person coming in, acting like they know the place, she’s been here for what, an hour? You’ve been stuck here for coming on four years. You hate it here but it’s still yours and you don’t even know why she’s getting under your skin so much.

“Lunch lasts an hour, if you want to avoid people don’t eat from 12-2 and we’re allowed up to five smoke breaks a day. If you need any help don’t hesitate to ask.” You say the last part somewhat sarcastically you go and sit in your cubicle and start your first call, Roger Humphries, School Principal.

You get into position, leaning back on your chair, blazer off, tapping on your desk with your pen. He’s just about to give into buying another ream, you can feel it, he’s making noises and flubbing but he’s on the ropes you can feel it. And, yeah, it may be boring as hell, but you need some kind of entertainment in this office.

“C’mon Roger, that extra ream would do wonders for your younger students, I know you’re looking for more creativity in school – think of what that extra ream could do.” Your tapping gets even faster as he’s about to give in, Veronica Sawyer, paper-seller extraordinaire, coming in with the winning punch and-

“Could you stop that god awful tapping some of us are trying to work.” A voice comes from above you, Heather is staring down at you from the conjoining wall of your cubicles, her red manicured nails contrasting with the dull grey of the wall.

“One second Roger.” You mute your call.

“I’m about to close a deal can you wait two seconds before you go all agro on me.” You unmute it. He gives in, an extra ream for Sawyer, boom. Top saleman in the Westerberg branch, not really a flex but it’s something at least. She still staring down at you over the wall, her gaze is cutting and you actually feel your gut drop slightly, she is kinda scary.

“By the way calling clients by their first names is highly unprofessional.” She says before disappearing back to her desk. This time you roll your eyes. You check your watch, 9:57, that’s late enough for a smoke break, if you were proud of yourself for only one yesterday, brace yourself for the inevitable crash of far too many today. You wave to Ben again as you leave, a pack of Newports and a 7/11 lighter JD gave you the one time you shared a smoke break, he’s being trying to quit since then and you have to say, good for him, he’s doing pretty well. It feels good when you take the first drag, ironically, you feel like you can breathe easier. This is not what you want, you hate the job, hate the boss and now you’re pretty sure you’re going to hate your newest coworker. You let your thoughts wander to Martha and what you’re going to do tonight, maybe you’ll cook for once. Some shitty Mac n cheese for the two of you. Yours with hot sauce, hers with ketchup, you’ll probably watch the Princess Bride for the millionth time but you don’t mind, as long as you’re with her. You’re just about to finish when you see Heather walk up. She rolls your eyes at you, sneering slightly.

“I take this job seriously, Sawyer.” She says, sticking a Marlboro reds in her mouth, of fucking course, she has Marlboro reds. What the hell does she expect you to say in reaction to that? “And I’m good at it, I wouldn’t expect a nobody like you to understand.” What is this girls deal? You take one last drag and crush the bud in the little bin at the side.

“We both work at the same paper company, we’re both at the same level, don’t start calling me a nobody because you live up your own ass.” You go to walk back inside and you swear that she has a small smile on her face, that wasn’t what you wanted from that, ugh.

You don’t know how to describe the rest of the day, it’s like the whole office was put off kilter by the presence of someone new, and a ridiculously mean and serious someone new. You tap even louder to piss her off and she gets redder and redder, but she never rats you out to Flemming. And she catches you moan about the lack of milk in the breakroom and says ‘do you make that noise when you fuck?’ and it catches you so off guard that you have no idea what to say, so she waltzes in to grab some coffee with a red mug, of course. But apart from that nothing else exceptional happens, the bus is hot and the kid from Burger King is there again. Thankfully Martha’s in tonight, like you guessed, you make your world famous Mac n cheese and you complain about Heather and she complains about the new Maître D and how he’s a massive butthead, her words not yours. And you feel not alone and when you sit down to eat, in front of the Princess Bride, obviously, and you don’t think about Heather all evening.

Well, you do, but it’s not important.


	3. Chapter 3

You have a love hate relationship with Wednesdays.

On one hand you go into work early to work on something you’re actually passionate about by getting to write something for some paper halfway across the country about something you couldn’t give two shits about but it’s better than nothing so you grab your chance with two hands and keep it as close as possible. On the other hand, you’ve been slogging away for a while and nothing seems to come from it, no papers in Westerberg, or even Ohio it seems, will give you chance and it hurts. You’re a good writer, you trust yourself, you’re ballsy and you’re persuasive. Roger Humphries didn’t need that extra ream of paper and you still made him buy it.

You sigh on a significantly emptier bus. At least you got to have breakfast with Martha before she had to go for prep for her lunch shift. Well, she had a proper breakfast, you had coffee and plain toast. You didn’t feel like anything but you knew having nothing would make you grumpy and have an even worse day in this shitty-ass job. Ben’s not there yet and, even though you know that he doesn’t come I until 8, you still raise your hand as if he’s there, realise your mistake and look embarrassed – even though you make the same mistake every week.

At this point in the morning, you tend to be the only one in the office so you get to make the coffee, small victories in this cruel, cruel world. You’re being dramatic again aren’t you? Well, that’s what you get for getting early and basically shot-gunning a coffee with seven sugars. In your defense, you’d made it really strong and you needed something to distract from the flavor, so you figured diabetes would do. You look in the fridge, even though you’re fully aware that the milk will be off. Wait, there’s a new bottle, it’s fancy. It must’ve cost at least two dollars. Flemming would never have bought this, everyone else lost their taste buds years ago – or they’re like Betty and have an ‘impenetrable’ stomach. It must’ve been Heather. Huh, you don’t know what to think of that so you bury it down, grab a coffee and head to your cubicle. Peace and quiet and, the history of polynomials? God, they’ve really stuck you on some dog-shit this week haven’t they. You try to remain positive, this is what you want to do with your like, writing for a paper instead of selling paper. It takes a while but you buckle down and get writing, just putting everything you can find about goddamn polynomials in a way that could be feasibly interesting. You guess, maybe some high school kid who needs to for a project will be thankful, that gives you a bit of joy. Being useful is always what you want. You just want people to know what is going on, the causes, the repercussions, everything. Even though most newspapers have gone online, some people depend on their paper counterparts for news and that’s what you what.

“You’ve used the wrong your.” A voice comes behind you. You turn to see Heather standing there, an unimpressed frown on her face. Her eyes are darting down the rest of your computer and she takes a sip of coffee from the mug, not even flinching at the taste. That solidifies your suspicion that she’s the buyer of the milk, even Betty’s nose scrunches up at the taste of it. You roll your eyes and continue writing, it’s easier to ignore her, even though it’s only her second day and she’s already making a habit of getting under your skin.

“No ‘thank you’ Sawyer? I expected someone like you to at least know basic grammar.”

“I’m clearly busy Chandler, go get prepped for the day.” You throw over your shoulder.

“Where’s that fire from yesterday?” She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. You don’t answer her and you can practically feel her roll her eyes before she goes to her cubicle. When McNamara comes in, with an obnoxiously wide smile on her face, waving at Heather and going to her desk behind the breakroom you know it’s time to actually get ready for the day. You sigh, closing your boring but better than selling paper article. First call of the day: some Fortune 500 company that is the one place that you can’t persuade to buy more. It doesn’t hurt. Well, it doesn’t hurt that much. They hand up after an efficient 20 minute call to hear Heather on the other side of the wall.

“You will buy this double ply hole punched because you need it. It’s always better to be more prepared than underprepared.” She says, a deadly tone in her voice. She speaks in quick sentences, not allowing the other side of the call to answer properly. It’s such a DC way to go about sales. Damn. She says a cool toned “Thank you for your purchase.” And you hear the telltale sign of the phone hanging up. Then she gets up and moves toward the conference room, then you see Ram and Sweeney walking toward there. Is this another email you missed? Probably. It’s clearly a busy Wednesday morning.

“Chandler, what’s going on?” You ask before she gets to far away to hear.

“Sales meeting, pillowcase.”

Right, another email you missed, you should really turn on notifications. You take a swig of the now mediocre coffee and walk over to the conference room. Flemming is on the other side of the table, with Sweeney and Ram next to Heather so you, thankfully, only have to sit next to the newest pain in your ass.

“Morning everyone. This could have been sent in an email but I would rather tell it to you in person, and because some of you have a bad habit of not checking their emails.” She quickly darts her eyes to you and you stare at the table, slightly shamefully. Then she goes back to looking between the truly gigantic sales department of four people, two of which are Neanderthals who barely capable of logging into their accounts. You may sound harsh but the amount that IT has had to be called is getting ludicrous. At this point you’re pretty sure that they have the two men on speed dial.

“There will be a sales conference at the beginning of next month, the top two salesmen will go. Your job will be to get as many new clients as you possibly can, as well as learning as many new sales techniques that you can use to increase the sales of out our branch.”

Oh no, _oh no._ In your mighty four years here, you’ve never been sent on one of these conferences, Betty got sent to the accounting one last year and had a three day hangover – apparently accountants party hard. You reckon that the sales department will not have the same kind of idea. Not only because the last time you had a multiple day hangover was during freshers week at College, plus you hate the idea of talking about paper selling techniques for multiple days. _Days._

“Road trip,” you hear Sweeney mutter to Kelly and they do a small fist bump under the table. You can see Flemming physically restrain the urge to roll her eyes. Heather beside you seems to be brimming with excitement. Oh yeah, ‘she takes this job seriously’, you can see her beginning to smile and it seems like a genuine one rather than the shark-tooth one that she points in everyone’s direction, that is slightly terrifying.

“So far, the two going will be Veronica and Kurt, but giving some people’s records, I’m sure that that could change.” She looks at Heather directly this time and it’s not even subtle. “Any questions?”

“Uh, where is it and how will be get there?” You ask, you really don’t want to fly, really, _really,_ do not want to fly.

“Philadelphia, the company will supply a car and you will drive.” Flemming smiles. Philly? That’s like an eight hour drive, being stuck in a car for eight hours with anyone in this room would kill you, sure there are some you wouldn’t mind, but some you would really, _really,_ hate. And you know that unless the boys sell a lot of goddamn paper that you’re going to be stuck in a car and then Philly for days with one of the people in this room. Great, this day is going real well. First the polynomials, then the Fortune 500 company then this. You can’t wait to tell Martha about this. You don’t know what would be worse, going to one of these things alone, or going to them with one of these assholes.

Great.

Your favorite day, tarnished. At least all of your calls this afternoon are with people who keen over easily at the littlest bit of persuasion so you can feel a bit better.

“How long is the conference?” Heather asks, practically vibrating from how ecstatic she is.

“It’s two days, but including travel, you’ll away from work for four days, you will be payed for those four days.” You guess that can’t be so bad, it could be longer, at the same time it could be less. You’ll take it though, there are a lot of worse things. When no one asks anymore questions, Flemming gestures to the door and you all leave, you almost scramble to the door in an effort to leave, Heather struts and the wonder boys bumble out, telling each other about all the ‘hot places to go in Philly’. You wonder how much of their head gets taken up by brain, you guess it’s not a lot. Okay, that might be kinda rude, but when they first got here they called you ‘legs’ for a month straight and even when you corrected them they would just laugh. That’s actually when you got pretty close to JD, because he would say some obscure quote that would leave them scratching their heads while you would laugh together. You became friends with him for a bit, but then he started flirting with you and you didn’t want a relationship and then he didn’t talk to you for like a week. But then he apologized and now you’re stuck in this weird limbo where you don’t really want to talk to him, but you miss him now and again. Work’s beginning to feel a bit lonely without that kind of friend presence.

You get through one call before you pretty much run for a smoke break.

“Sawyer.” You hear Heather say behind you, as soon as you put a cig between your lips.

“Chandler.”

You stand in silence, you rifling through your pockets for your lighter while she just looks at you in a slightly uncomfortable way. It looks like she’s trying to figure out what to say, but still staring at you like she could set you on fire.

“I’m only telling you this because I want to go on that conference.” You light and drag and gesture for her to continue because you want to get any conversation you have with her over with. She looks very uncomfortable and has to looks at the sky before composing herself and looking at you right in the eyes.

“I’m not getting as many sales as I normally would.”

“Okay?” What does she want you to do about that?

She makes an awkward arm gesture. And you get it. Oh this is rich, Miss ‘I can do it myself’ needs help from a lowly little nobody like you, this is perfect.

“Oh, you want my help?” You tease, she does one of those glares that kinda scares you, but you don’t back down.

“Sawyer.” She gets out through gritted teeth and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to be stuck with one of the brozos. Lucky for you, Flemming measures how many sales per month, all you’ve gotta do is beat Sweeney and Kurt for this month. That shouldn’t be hard, they’ve been stuck on face to face meetings since November because they get along with the rich assholes, but they barely make any sales, they just have a dick-measuring contest with them instead.”

You take a drag, she’s tapping her foot again, wow, for someone asking for help, she’s real bad at taking it.

“And I heard you earlier, this isn’t DC, you’ve gotta be nicer to clients. That kinda shit works with fancy companies, but most people here are schools, small businesses or hotels.”

You see her nod and she begins to walk off, before seemingly forgetting something.

“I still don’t like you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Then she struts off again. If your eyes linger a bit on her, uh, form while she leaves then you’ll never tell anyone. Even though she does cut quite a figure, god you sound like Sweeney and Kelly. Don’t start finding this infuriating woman attractive, it’ll only end badly. You mean, you’re not blind, you know she’s attractive, but knowing attractive and finding attractive are two complete different games.

This woman is going to be the death of you.

Whether it’s because you’ll murder each other or stress-related heart attack you don’t know, but you’ll die either way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is no good, it's a bit of a filler chapter before things get going
> 
> So, sorry again, hope ya like

The weather always gets worse before it gets better. It’s like the darkest before dawn rule.

It gets colder and colder, until you hope for the heat of the bus because, even though it’s gross and there are people all over you, it’s worth some kind of heat because it’s real fucking freezing outside. You become slightly more irritable by the lack of smoke breaks because you convinced yourself at the beginning of the day that it was warm enough to not wear your big coat because it’ll be uncomfortable in the office. You’re wrong, always wrong. You get a weirdly positive response from your polynomials article so you get two articles in the week instead of the one. So, while you’re fucking freezing, you have a warmth inside that can’t be quelled. This is your chance, they trust you enough to give you more articles and then you can quit this good for nothing job to be a journalist, just like you wanted for years, Dad would be proud. It’s everything you’ve been working for, maybe you should be thankful for polynomials.

Plus it’s Friday so that’s a win.

Ben’s started growing his beard and your music has transitioned from 90s guitar bands to any soft folk-like music, the kind that your Dad liked. McNamara has already started planning for office Valentines plans because it falls on a Thursday this year and is telling anyone who’ll listen her plans with her wife, which are, albeit kinda gross, cute and you hope she has a nice evening. The devil works hard but Heather McNamara works harder, her cheeks must ache from all of smiling she does all day, or maybe she’s gained muscles from all the working out of her cheeks.

The end of January is looming closer and you’re hoping, or at least holding out for Heather’s previous sales experience so you don’t have to spend eight hours in a car with Sweeney and Kurt. You don’t like her but she’s the lesser of many, _many,_ evils.

Heather’s there when you first get it, she’s there when you leave.

She’s pretty damn adamant on getting to that conference, which you appreciate, although you both want her to come for different reasons.

Her voice on calls is still pointed and cold, but she doesn’t order people to buy ream after ream of paper. So, baby steps. The office’s shift starts to make sense and become normal. Heather’s heated stare and odd friendship with McNamara is becoming more and more like a daily occurrence you can roll your eyes at. And she doesn’t insult your outfit every day, but she does still look you up and down with a look of disdain.

It’s a busy day, with back-to-back calls with restaurants who want printing for new Valentines leaflets and other shit. It’s not even a real holiday, you don’t understand everyone’s obsession with it. Even though you’re pretty sure that it’s because you haven’t been in a relationship for a while and you’re starting to feel lonely, even in Martha’s company, you bury all of those feelings down because, it’s unhealthy to feel bad things. It may be even more unhealthy to bury perfectly reasonable feelings but you will turn a blind eye until they become too much. Then you will go play crochet angrily and after half an hour you’re good and the cycle repeats.

Anyways.

You’re finally free from calls at 1:30, the worst time to be free from calls. It’s when half the office decides to have lunch, causing a queue for the microwave and, shock horror, small talk with co-workers. Luckily, you seem to have missed JD and McNamara, but Heather and Sweeney are there and you can’t possibly think of a worse combination. You trudge into the breakroom, hoping to not to draw any attention to yourself.

“So, how’d you get a pair of legs like that?” Sweeney says, leering down at Heather, who looks disgusted. He’s referring to her skirt, which is not up to company policy, and is ridiculously short – considering the weather and, the fact that you’re at work? But you’re not going to judge her, she gets to wear what she wants, even if she’s freezing.

“I work out.” She says shortly, grabbing her container of food and eating some.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna work out together?” He moves toward her, gyrating his eyebrows. You resist the urge to throw up in your mouth. You open the fridge and try to find your lunch.

“Uh, as if.”

“Come on, just you and me, and a meal at Vino’s.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Just go out with me, please.” His voice is bordering on whiny and it she doesn’t shut him down properly, you will. An you can’t bloody find your food, you swear that you remembered it today.

“I like girls.”

“How come all the hot girls in this office are gay?” His tone isn’t homophobic, he’s just lamenting at the fact that no one wants to sleep with him. But Heather still looks a bit worried about his reaction nonetheless so you intervene, closing the door of the fridge and giving him a look.

“Go whack off your two-inch wonder under your desk will you, ya high school has-been.” You interject and he scoffs at you, turning and pointing in your face.

“You have a zit right there.” Then he leaves, truly a master at insults. You open the fridge and look in to find that your lunch is not there anymore. You turn to Heather, seeing her roll her eyes at you and go back to eating. The food in her hand is beginning to look awfully familiar.

“Is that my lunch?” She has a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

Why does she have to ruin a perfectly good day?

“Why-“

“Because I forgot mine. And it’s much more delicious.”

“My roommate works in a restaurant.”

“Well thank you for the food.” She finishes the noodles and wipes her mouth daintily with lipstick. She is so fucking infuriating. She turns to leave before looking back at you while you silently fume.

“Oh, and I’ve already beaten Kelly’s sales, I’ll be going to Philly in no time.” And with that she smirks at you then leaves the bloody breakroom.

At least there’s that brilliant news.

You’re tempted to pretend to get food poisoning so you don’t have to go, but then you’d feel bad leaving Heather with those dipshits. You sigh and eat one of the cookies that McNamara brought in and you know it’ll be your only lunch, luckily you weren’t that hungry. Still pissed at Heather, you slump into your chair and complete your calls with an anger and efficiency that you never expected but it works.

The end of the day is gladly welcomed by a surprise call from a flustered hotel manager who needs a _lot_ of paper for some last minute event that he rambles on about for at least five minutes, but you tuned him out after you 50 seconds. You’re not in the mood. You try to get through him as quickly as possible but he can’t decide on what paper he needs, you end up rubbing your forehead to stop myourself from snapping – the way your dad used to – even though you know it’ll make you break out. He finally settles on some double ply plain card which is able to take some crumpling and creasing, you hang up when he’s halfway through his fourth and final thank you and turn off your computer.

You’re actually vaguely excited to get on the bus, for once, and get home, ready to unleash your anger onto Martha and for her to hype you up while pouring yourselves glass after glass of wine. You feel happy (ish) for the first time since this morning, until you get to your stop and see the worst thing you could possible see.

_Bus line 23 is closed from the 17 th-19th of January_

_We apologise for any inconvenience_

Well they can take their inconvenience and shove it up their asses. That’s your route, you could wait and change somewhere but it’ll take twice as long. Fuck. Your mood sours again. It was working perfectly fine this morning, you’re tempted to say it’s a joke, but then you remember how tragic the American public transport system is. At least it’s closed over the weekend so you don’t need to wake up far too early to get to work on time. A red car pulls up, this better not be who you think it is.

“Get in,” Heather’s voice comes out of the car.

“My bus is coming.”

“No it isn’t, you’ve complained about the 23 many times, I can see it’s cancelled. Get in.”

You roll your eyes and get in, but only because it’ll take a full half an hour less. It’s small and expensive, with white leather seats because of course she has white leather seats. Her car smells like something flowery and she rests both hands on the wheel as the car changes gears by itself. You sit in the passenger seat with your arms crosses grunting out a small thanks. Some random 90s R&B tune is playing on the radio.

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?” She says, with her lips slanted up her face, her eyes boring into yours.

“Someone ate my lunch.” She rolls her eyes and she drives surprisingly cautiously, constantly checking her mirrors and keeps both hands on the wheel. You don’t mean to stare at her, but her jawline is like some Renaissance sculptor carved it and the she speaks just out the corner of her mouth so you can see her lips move.

“Wow, you’re still cut up about that?” She looks at you when you’re at a red light, her eyes aren’t filled with some kind of disdain or disgust like they normally are – instead they have this playful glint that you could decipher but you really don’t want you. Her lips also quirk from the fact that she caught you staring, you can’t help but blush slightly. Even though it is stupid and you actually pretty much hate this woman. _No you don’t_ , the voice at the back of your head says.

“Yeah, lunch is important.”

“Exactly, why should I starve?” She looks to the road again and carries on driving.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Turn left here.” She does so dutifully, and you fall into silence. As much as you hate to say it, it isn’t awkward, or even tense. It’s just there. You wonder what her hair will be like if it’s down, it’s always tied up in that stupid red scrunchie. What is her obsession with the colour anyway? Maybe it’s like you, where you discovered you look good in blues and blacks and purples so you just stayed dressing in them.

“I talked to Flemming today.”

You hum in response.

“I’m going to Philly, just like I deserve.” You roll your eyes at that.

“Can’t wait.” You reply, sarcastically.

“Trust me, spending at least 8 hours in a car with you is not exactly what I want, but I want to get high in this company and going to conferences like that will help.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“This may be only a job to you Sawyer, but it’s much more to me.”

Right, because she takes this job so bloody seriously. You sigh and go back to silence, you’re not even that pissed anymore, you just want to get home. You are thankful that Heather’s given you a lift, even though she does kinda make you want to pull your teeth out.

You ask her to pull over on the street next to your apartment. So she doesn’t know how where you live, and she doesn’t judge how shitty the building is.

“Thanks.” You say, getting out of her car, this has been an odd twenty minutes, and she ducks her head to make eye contact as you close the door, she makes the passenger window go down.

“You’re welcome. Navy’s a good colour on you.” You look down at your navy jumper as she closes the window and drives off, you’re lost for words.

Martha’s going to really enjoy hearing about this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter - it's defo one of my longest - and I hope you like it too :)

You’ve been mentally preparing yourself for today for a while, being stuck in a car with someone you actually like for eight hours is difficult, let alone someone like Heather. On top of all of that, you hope the hotel has free wifi so you can work on any stories you get sent because of course the trip goes from Monday to Thursday. The fear that you’ll get dropped from the one thing that’s giving you excitement about your future is too high, you’ve already wasted too much of your life at Dunder Mifflin, you don’t want to waste four more years. You reckon Heather’s the type of person to be anal about directions or the heat of the car or something. Maybe she won’t be half bad, she did buy milk and said that you look good in navy. She’s confusing, and irritating, and annoyingly attractive. And you’re stuck with her, in a confined space, for an entire day.

So.

Getting up at 5:30 has never been so hard.

Not just because of the Heather Chandler factor, but because it’s five fucking thirty in the morning.

You thank whatever God there may be for the deli that's right next to your bus stop. You're wearing sunglasses even though it's still dark because the bags under your eyes should be hidden from the world. The woman who runs the deli gives you a kind smile and gives you a sympathetic look at your slightly forced smile.

"Early start dear?" She says softly, already starting the coffee machine. You don't always go here because, even though the coffee is only a $1.50, some days it's easier to make half a gallon of coffee and down at least three mugs before you get off. Today though, you heard Martha come back from a night shift at the restaurant at around 3am and the machine would just wake her up so the kind woman in the deli is the way to go. On top of the need for coffee, your intake of cigarettes has almost tripled since Heather's entrance into your life. Especially since she tends to join you on them, offering scathing comments about your clothes and God knows what else while you roll your eyes and remind her that you are in the exact same point in your lives. That is, selling paper at a sub-par company.  
  
"You have no idea." You answer, "can I get a pack of Newports and a white coffee please - as strong as possible."  
  
"That'll be $9.50 dear." She says, ringing up the register and giving you your change. You haul your bag, one of those sports ones thats shaped a bit like a duffle bag, and readjust your backpack. The woman gives you one last smile while you leave, you check your watch to see that your bus should, buses never come when you expect them to, and it should, theoretically, come any second now.  
  
Just like you expected, it takes almost fifteen minutes for the bus to come, but it's thankfully empty and you actually sit down, almost throwing your bag down in the seat next to you. The coffee is a welcome change from the normal sludge they call coffee in the breakroom at work as it slides down your throat. The bus is warm, but not the way that uncomfortable way that it normally is, the coffee starts to set it while you think about the weird-ass day that you have ahead of you. You can't tell if Heather will want to drive because she has a need for control over everything or if she'll be the Queen of Sheba and make you do everything.  
  
You light the penultimate cigarette from your last pack as soon as you leave the bus, giving a quick wave to the driver. You walk into the parking lot, it's empty except for a car with a note on the windshield. Boss of the year, Pauline Flemming everyone. You wonder how long it'll take Heather to arrive, she's ridiculously punctual, but also seems to keep you waiting. You dump you bag next to the car and read the note, feeling your cigarette on the tip of your lips, tilting your head and pulling your glasses onto the top of your head. It just explains Flemming’s absence, where the keys are, yadah yadah.

The sun is nowhere near rising and the moon is nowhere in sight, clouds drift across the sky, making it a dark grey colour instead of the comforting navy that you used to stare at as a child. You hear heels and see blonde hair walking across the parking lot. She’s got a wheelie suitcase that would suitable for a week away not three days. She looks at you up and down with some disdain. You look down at your black roll-neck and suit pants, your blue scarf standing out from the sea of black. She can’t look at you like that when she’s wearing one colour which is, surprise surprise, red.

“Sunglasses Sawyer?”

“Heels Heather? We’re in a car for eight hours.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You open make your way to the back of the car, it’s a very average car. Not too flashy, not crazy small, just one of those very average cars. Kinda like your very average life. You open the trunk and fling your bag in.

“Pass your bag.”

“Not if you’ll treat it like that.” She sneers at you while putting her bag in the back, ridiculously slowly and carefully. You roll your eyes and slam the trunk as soon as she’s done. Maybe you’re being a bit too snappy, but she is too.

“Flemming not here?”

“She’s busy.”

She looks a bit disappointed about that until she sees you throw your rucksack onto the back seats and make your way to the driver’s side.

“I’m driving.” She says her tone pointed and clear, the way she talks to customers.

“Not in those shoes you’re not.”

“I can drive in heels.”

“Look we can switch over later on.”

“Exactly, so let me start.”

“No.”

She shoves past you and opens the door and you can’t help but feel a bit of joy when her face drops. She quickly rearranges her face and gives you a steely glare, the kind of one that can bend people to her will, the one that usually sends Country Club Keith – one of the accountants – packing.

“You’re driving, I can’t drive a stick.”

“Well well, how the turn tables.”

“It’s how the tables turn dipshit.”

“It’s an office reference god, do you keep up with anything?”

“I’m busy actually working toward a career.”

“Yeah at a paper company, that’s worth _so_ much.”

“Could you not be an asshole for two seconds.”

“How about you try removing that stick from your ass?” She slams the door shut, advancing on you slightly.

“Classy.”

“Wow, I am _so_ offended.”

She walks around the front of the car, surprisingly fast considering her heels and gets in, her arms folded like a child throwing a tantrum. You throw your cigarette, which by now has gone out, somewhere and get into the drivers seat. You take your sunglasses off and throw them on the dashboard, she tuts at the action. You roll your eyes. You’ve got a feeling that you’re going to be doing that a lot for the next couple of hours. Unlike the last time you were in a car together, there is no music, Heather tried fiddling with the radio when you first set off and she made a disgruntled sigh at the lack of interesting stations, so you’re in this silence. It isn’t the most awkward silence you’ve ever had, that would have to be leaving a sorority girl’s bedroom the morning after some very loud sex, needless to say the other women in the house were not pleased. You’re at a red light when you grab at your bag in the backseat and find the CDs you stuffed in there last night. You almost throw them at Heather before taking a right onto the road toward Napoleon.

“How did you know there’d be a CD player?”

“Flemming’s not gonna spend money on a car with Bluetooth, she doesn’t even get double ply toilet paper.”

She hums and looks through the pile, there are around five but you know there are more somewhere in your bag. Westerburg is part of a slightly larger town called Sherwood, which is also tiny. It’s the same way that you separate New York into uptown and downtown, London into the zones, except it’s a shitty little town that has got Westerburg and the place next to the gas station – when people ask you where you live in Sherwood, you either live by the gas station or Westerburg. Anyways, Sherwood’s one of those places which is half-middle-of-nowhere, half town which is too small to be interesting but too big to be one of _those_ towns; so you’re only really out of the town when the trees go from being everywhere, to being _everywhere._ Does that make sense? It better, the coffee’s power was starting to diminish and you stifle a yawn. She looks at the CDs with a confused expression, that’s when you realised that you grabbed most of the CDs that you and Martha made instead of actual albums that people normally like to listen to on crazy long road trips. Fuck.

“What’s this?” She holds up a CD with devil horns drawn on the front, the words _V + M + ANGER ON A TUESDAY_ written above the drawing. Oh yeah, you and Martha got angry wine drunk and made a playlist that you made into a CD the next day.

“Got angry drunk with a friend after a breakup, led to that.”

“Not a half bad collection of songs.”

“Do you always have to be so condescending?”

“Because I’m better than most people.” She says it so nonchalantly that you know that she isn’t even joking, she believes it wholeheartedly, or she’s one of those people who can hide emotions pretty damn well.

“Most people including me?”

“Depends on the day.”

Goddamn it she’s an asshole.

She decides against the CD with the bull and picks one of the older cases, you can tell by how battered it is. She puts it in the player and the classic beginning of a Dad Rock song that brings back wave after wave of nostalgia. Heather says nothing more and stares out of the window, watching the trees pass by. Music fills the air instead of silence this time and that’s the way that it stays for a while.

You think of your future, how unsure you are of it. Well, there is a strong possibility that you’ll still be working at Dunder Mifflin, you’d rather not be, but your dreams of being a journalist are starting to turn into a pipedream – just visible but out of reach. You’re competent in your skills, especially after being given two articles the other week, but the doubt starts to set in and you can’t stop imagining yourself being stuck selling paper for the rest of your life. You’re single, you’re lonely and you’ve stuck that way for the last couple of years. Nights alone, Martha being the only person you talk to apart from your Mom and the people at work. At least your life has been slightly more interesting since Heather has shown up, even if it’s been negative. Surprisingly, Heather only offers directions when you’re near large junctions instead of crowding you, checking where you’re going every two seconds like you expected. Songs start to blur, your ass gets numb, time moves on. The only thing you can do on these trips is think, and you think too much already, it gets you thinking of the things that you’re trying to avoid, the feelings that are better left than noticed.

A Queen song that your Dad loved comes on and you grab the wheel slightly tighter when you remember him smiling at you in the passenger seat while he was driving you to a Swim meat, he was singing along. Then you remember that you're not alone in the car so you breathe and let go of the memory. Two hours have passed, you’ve barely noticed the time, just drive from junction to junction, lane to lane, song after song.

"My Mom hates Queen." Heather says, staring out the window in the unmoving way that she's been for the last two hours. You barely even heard her over your thoughts and the song that's plugging up your ears. You smile slightly at her.

"So does mine. Dad loved them though." If she notices the past tense, she doesn't say anything, just hums and nods. It’s been around four and a bit hours, your back is stiff, you can’t feel half of your legs and concentrating on the road is getting harder and harder. You should stop driving.

“You hungry yet?”

“I could eat.”

There’s a waffle house nearby and you pull into the parking lot, it’s pretty empty considering it’s around half ten and normal people don’t have lunch around half ten.

“Seriously? Are we kids?”

“Waffle House is an institution.”

“It only closes during pandemics and hurricanes.”

“Okay?”

“So it’s not sanitary.”

“You’ve never been have you.”

“I’ve been to Waffle House before.”

“Yeah, right.” You take the keys out of the ignition and walk into the cold, grey day. You’re disappointed in the weather even though you are unfortunately aware of the Ohio weather and how mediocre it tends to be. You’re legs feel like two rods of steel and movement makes you feel like the tin man. You stretch and feel your roll-neck ride up, cold air touches your hip and it adds to your lack of comfort. You see Heather’s eyes flick down to your skin then bore into yours, she’s pissed about going to Waffle House, well, she’s not driving. She walks a bit stiffly behind you and you walk into one of your favourite places in the world, which is sort of embarrassing to admit, but it has happy memories alright.

A expected, you and Heather order and eat mostly in silence, her nose crinkles quite often and she’s a bit bitchy about the place, but not too mean to the waitress. At least she’s not one of _those_ people who believes that they are way better than those in the service industry. Who is this woman, she’s a bitch with a superiority complex and a cutting glare and compliments you and offers you a ride home and invades your thoughts and who moved from DC to Ohio. She looks slightly disgusted at the menu and orders an omelette and orange juice while you go for a good old fashioned steak and eggs – just like the astronauts your Dad always said – and a coffee. She halfway through the omelette, eating small bites neatly, both of her forearms on the table instead of her elbows, and she placed a napkin on her lap before eating – she has the manners of you Grandma.

“Ok, I’ll bite.” You say, over your third cup of coffee.

“What?”

“Why did you move from DC to Ohio?”

“None of your business pillowcase.” She sneers at you, but it seems half-hearted, she drinks some of her juice.

“C’mon, maybe you’ll like me on more days if I know more about you.” Her eyebrows furrow, this is the most reaction she’s ever had to anything you’ve said before.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“So do you.”

“That’s rude.”

“And? You’re rude.”

“You’re being a child again.”

“Is that all you’ve got?”

“Fine I had a bad break up, all my friends were her friends so I moved here for a fresh start.” That wasn’t what you expected, not that you’d expected much. You’d thought that it was the branch needing more people and better sales or maybe she wanted the bumfuck Ohio experience.

“You moved to Sherwood Ohio for a fresh start? Most people like to get out of here as quick as possible.” Incredulity seeps into your voice.

“McNamara’s a family friend. And how come you’re here then?”

“I grew up here, got out for College, couldn’t afford it and came back. By then my Mom moved to Florida. Do you like me more now?”

“No.”

“Sure.”

She takes another drink of her juice and you can see a small smile on her face.

Maybe this trip won’t be complete nightmare fuel after all.

\--

You arrive at the hotel when the sun is setting.

It isn’t that late, but being the beginning of February the sun betrays you and starts to set at an absurdly early time. The journey verged on ten hours, if you count lunch, smoke breaks and the ridiculous stops at gas stations because Heather demanded snacks or the bathroom or wanted to check how she looked – you wish you were joking. You can’t wait to never drive again when you pull up to the hotel.

It’s not a bad hotel, or not a good one, just a very average one. You expected worse to be honest, from the look on her face, Heather expected better. We’re not in DC anymore. The parking costs almost as much as your lunch and you grumble to yourself the entire time while paying it. Your bag feels heavier than it did this morning and Heather looks like she could fall asleep on her feet. The receptionist is nice and smiles a bit too wide to be real but you understand and make your way to the room. Heather, being Heather, storms ahead of you to check out the room before you can get in edgewise, she lets out a disgruntled yelp when she enters the room.

“There’s only one bed.” She seethes, genuine anger coming to her eyes.

Fuck.

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor, my back kills.” You awkwardly stretch as she seems to be getting madder by the second.

“There’s no way _I’m_ sleeping on the floor.” For the first time since this morning she seems actually pissed off with you, any irritation she felt all seemed to be slightly artificial, or at least it didn’t seem like it would end in a screaming match.

“Then let’s share.”

“What?!” It’s so loud and so sudden you almost take a step back, but you won’t give her the satisfaction.

“Woah, what’s your damage?”

“My damage is that I don’t want to share.”

“Oh, is prissy little Heather afraid to share?”

She makes a little squeak of a noise and leaves the room, attempting to slam the door on the way out but the safety hinges make her exit a lot less dramatic. Ah, peace at last, on any other day you would spend at least half an hour thinking over the interaction, her motives, why she did a 180, but you’re tired, and hungry – all Heather bought at the many gas station trips were BQ Corn-nuts, which come in at the second worst snack food after beef jerky although it’s a close competition to be honest.

You order room service on the company credit card, like Flemming said you could and put on the tv, vegging out in front of Dr. Phil sounds like a good plan. You put on your Penn State shirt and a pair of boys boxers that are so comfy you almost fall asleep when you lie back down on the bed but your stomach keeps you awake as you wait for your pasta with extra oregano comes. Your mind does wonder to Heather a few times, as much as you loathe to admit, especially when you’d catch her bobbing her head or mouthing the lyrics to a song and she’d tell you to focus on the road – but in a tone of voice you hadn’t heard before and can’t be bothered to look into. Not much happens in the next hour or two, a couple starts banging in the room next door and you hit the shared wall in return, which garnered you a small ‘sorry’ followed by giggles and the slightly quieter sound of fucking. You turn up the tv and carry on eating, at least someone is getting laid. You look through the itinerary that Flemming gave you last week while pilling your plate and cutlery on the tray – it takes two seconds and makes life so much easier, you’ve learnt from personal experience of working at Burger King during your formative years as a teenage angst train who read philosophy too young and dressed exclusively in hot topic clothes. The day consists of boring seminar after meeting people after a debate on the most efficient sales techniques. Wow, sounds riveting.

Heather comes back just after eight with her heels dangling from her hands.

You were on the verge of sleep when you hear the door shut quietly.

“Where you been?”

“Getting food.”

You nod and stare at the TV.

“Penn State?” You mute it, this is the most invested she’s ever been in your actual life, you’re gonna see what she wants, most likely an ulterior motive to be honest.

“Yeah, how’d you think I knew how to get here so easily?” She stays quiet for a second after that, putting her heels in the small closet and opening her suitcase.

“I never thought about it.” She finally says, bringing out what you assume are pyjamas but they seem so flashy you can’t believe that they’re for sleeping in.

You hum and put the tv on sound again. She goes into the bathroom. True to stereotype, she takes a _very_ long time getting ready, you hear the shower and the blow dryer and she steps out looking like you’ve never seen her before. No red lipstick, her hair isn’t in that red scrunchie and she’s in pyjamas that could blind someone. You don’t realise you’re staring until she makes a face at you and you snap back to the TV. She sits as far away from you as she possibly can on the bed, looking at the map of the convention and the itinerary that you looked at and quickly discarded. She holds it really close to her face, then puts the lamp on next to her – even though the main light is on – then sighs and goes to her bag and pulling out a pair of thick rimmed glasses.

Holy shit, she’s cute. She looks cute instead of looking like she could beat you up with her stilettos. It’s a weird change of events and you’re not entirely sure how to think about it so you just carry on watching the TV.

Eventually you turn off the TV and she turns off the lamp and you look at each other for a second, nodding and lie down.

“You better not snore.”

“You better not hog the blanket.”

“Don’t you dare take up space, we’re an even half.”

You roll your eyes and pull the covers up to your shoulders.

And you fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up in scratchy sheets but you’re warm. You don’t have the heart to open your eyes, especially when there’s a soothing feeling coming from your hand. You have a dull ache on your shins from the times throughout the night that Heather kicked, it doesn’t hurt too badly though so you just curl into the bed a bit more. There’s a heavy feeling on your hand, like another hand is on it. You’re still waking up and can’t quite understand where everything is yet. You make one of those groans that you make after a good night’s sleep and feel a small jerk from the other person occupying the bed.

“Shit.” You hear the other person, _Heather,_ breathe and she leaves the bed – and your hand – and you guess she goes to the bathroom. She must of woken up from your groan, you didn’t think you were being too loud, maybe she’s a light sleeper. Or maybe it’s just because it’s been forever since you’ve had someone in a bed, it really is an embarrassing amount to be honest. And why was Heathers hand on yours? Was is sub-conscious?

God, it’s too early, you’re not going to think about that, nope, you’re going to focus on this boring, _so boring,_ day ahead of you. You shove your face in the pillow and will yourself to get back to sleep, it doesn’t work. You, unfortunately, leave the bed and it’s warmth. Even though it has scratchy sheets and you had to sleep next to goddamn Heather Chandler, it kept you warm and was quite comfy and you loathe to leave it.

Just as you leave the bed, the bathroom door opens and Heather steps out.

In a skin tight black pencil skirt and red bra.

It’s at this point that you’re pretty sure your brain melts, or short circuits, or something like that because you cannot believe that she looks like that. You’re pretty sure you’re staring but she hasn’t noticed, she’s too busy looking for her suitcase of the floor. And then she bends over in that skirt and-

Where did these feelings come from?

She treated you like a human being for all of two seconds yesterday and here you are checking her out. You mean, you have eyes, you know she’s attractive, it’s just a tad bit more noticeable this morning, you assure yourself. She stands back up and blows a hair out of her face, holding a red blouse in front of her, scrutinising it. You notice a freckles dotted over her side and back, a larger one lies underneath her bra.

You’re going to chalk up all of these _feelings_ to the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in a long while, yeah that’s a plausible explanation.

But you can’t ignore the fact that she’s attractive.

So, very, attractive.

And then the illusion gets shattered when she barks at you.

“Hey, Sawyer, we got half an hour before they serve breakfast, let’s go.”

Oh yeah, she’s a bitch.

“And don’t you _dare,_ touch any of my stuff.”

“How are you acting like a drill Sergent at,” you look around to find a clock, “7.50 in the morning?”

“I snorted a line of coke in the bathroom.” She deadpans, fiddling with her phone. Wow, Heather Chandler making jokes which aren’t at your expense. At least it was kinda funny. You stumble out of the bed, stretching, your back still feels like hell from all of the driving yesterday, but it’s a bit better than last night, your back makes a satisfying pop and you see Heather flinch out of the corner of your eye.

“God, could you not?”

You click your fingers.

“Sawyer.”

“Chandler.”

She rolls her eyes, putting on the blouse she was eyeing earlier.

“Chop chop Sawyer, we don’t have all day.”

Ugh, you can’t come up with a response that’s biting enough so you roll your eyes and grab your clothes for the day before getting into the bathroom. Wow, it looks like the Body Shop threw up in here. You spy around the million creams and lotions and facemasks for your little blue wash-kit, complete with your name embroidered in the corner – a Christmas present from your Mom. She got it for you the year your Dad started getting sick, she said it was for sleepovers. You only went on so many that year because she was always at the hospital and, even though you were fourteen, your Mom decided you were far too young to be left alone, which was bullshit, but at least you got to see Martha loads. You soon started using it when you slept at the hospital now and again. Then it just sat in your bathroom for years and years, only coming out for college and now. God, you can’t believe you have an emotional connection with a wash-kit, you suppose you’re allowed to have one when it reminds you of your dead Dad. You get in the shower, the heat waking your body up and you feel vaguely ready to take on the day, the day where you will inevitably argue with Heather about something stupid. Great. Your mind drifts back to waking up, it felt nice to have someone else in bed with you, although it kinds sucks that it was Heather.

Now you’re confused, brilliant. This is what comes from shower thoughts, why do showers have to be so thought provoking? You don’t understand.

You sort of yearn for the crushing loneliness that you felt a few weeks back because at least that was easy; wishing for bloody Heather Chandler in your bed is, unexpected. You are going to deal with these ideas in a healthy way of course.

Burying them deep, deep, down. Until you no longer think of them.

Just like when you’re on the way to work, you try to hype yourself up a bit for the day, maybe it won’t be half bad. It works, slightly, not incredibly well but at least you’re not completely dreading the following day.

True to form, once you’re done in the bathroom, Heather is tapping her foot impatiently and checking her phone. She’s wearing a matching blazer to the skirt, looking a lot smarter than your navy shirt, black dress pant combo; she gives you a once over which isn’t completely full of sneer, so you take that as a win.

“Come on loser,” she says, not even looking up from her phone as she struts off.

“Loser? That’s such a middle school insult.” You mutter to yourself, rushing to put on shoes as she waits in the hallway, you grab your backpack, phone and whatever else you need to get through the day, mainly a coat because Philly can get chilly at random points.

You didn’t really take in the hotel last night, with you being absolutely shattered and not really paying attention to the décor. The carpet has that kind of purple that only shows up at hotels and the walls are a beige colour that you almost blend in with. Heather walks at a ridiculous pace, okay so she’s one of _those_ gays who walks crazy fast, that’s what your roommate was like in college. She says nothing in the elevator, she doesn’t even say something at your expense, she just stares straight ahead and storms about the place.

There’s nothing interesting about breakfast, you eat, she eats, you remain in silence, downing as much coffee as possible so you feel vaguely awake before hearing about paper, types of paper, sales techniques to sell paper, god there’s a possibility you might fall asleep during these lectures. There are other tired people in suits or plain shirts all about the place, they must be here for the conference. You sit back and observe as one man does the crossword on the paper, a woman holds a mug like it’s her lifeline and a man with short black hair looks at you and Heather weirdly, his eyes widen in what you guess is realisation and he smiles, standing up and almost jogging on his way over.

“Heather Chandler.”

She jerks and looks at him, a slightly disbelieving smile on her face, this is the most human you’ve seen her, her shoulders are even relaxed as she stands and hugs him.

“Dennis Moseby, god it’s been forever.” Even her voice sounds different, jesus, is this what she’ll like when she’s not a paper selling machine?

“Well, ever since you and-“

“Let’s not talk about her.” She’s quick to cut him off and she’s bordering on the voice she uses when she’s strong-arming people into buying paper. He shifts slightly, scratching the back of his neck, oh no they’ve shifted into a slightly awkward silence. You take a sip of coffee as they stare at each other.

“How’s Ohio treating you?” He finally says after a moment too long.

“It’s Ohio, it’s nice to get out of the city, how’s DC?”

“Not the same without you.”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” She seems almost freer while talking to him, her arms aren’t crossed or slightly clenched at her sides, she smiles easily and gestures slightly while she talks. It’s cute. Some part of you, a part that is being pushed _very_ far down can’t help but wish she could be a bit like that with you.

“Seriously, no one else can chug a drink like you, I despise being able to beat all of our friends.”

She laughs slightly, tilting her head back and revealing the long line of her neck, Dennis laughs too, a comforting low chuckle. So she can chug, this is vital information, learning about drinking habits is the same as learning if someone cooks or orders takeout – it gives you a little look into their life in a domestic way that shows what people are really like.

“Who’s this?” He looks at you, giving you a smile. You smile back, raising your hand to shake it.

“Veronica Sawyer, top salesman of Westerburg.” You reply, you’re not entirely sure where the brag comes from, Heather seems to agree from the way her eyebrow lifts. Dennis laughs again and let’s go of your hand.

“You’re slipping Heather,” He turns to you again. “She’d lose her mind before she let anyone top her – in sales or in other places.”

Okay, wow, unexpected response. That’s an image you never wanted to have in your head, and now it’s here. Fuck.

“You’re an asshole.” She chides him.

“You love me.”

“Yeah right, anyways, me and Jeremy’s room is 278 and we’re having a little get together tomorrow night if you wanna come.”

“I’m not sure-“

“It’ll be a laugh, maybe Veronica can convince you, she’s the top salesman of the branch anyway.” He says, clapping a hand on your shoulder and walking back to his table. She sits back down and takes another sip of her juice. You stay in silence for a bit before you break it.

“So you don’t have an antagonistic relationship with everyone you know?”

“Shut up Sawyer.” It’s not as biting as it normally is, there’s a light playfulness in her tone, the same way she did when she gave you a lift home.

“So are we going to Dennis’ party?”

“We shouldn’t, we have an eight hour drive the next day.”

“I’m the one driving, I wouldn’t recommend going if not.”

“I don’t wanna go, end of discussion.”

You roll your eyes at her tone, she goes back to eating, you text Martha, telling her you miss her. She won’t reply for a few hours since she’s busy on prep, but waiting for her reply is enough to rise your spirits slightly. You look up to see Heather dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“Let’s go.”

“Our first thing isn’t until 10.”

“Exactly, we only have an hour fifteen.”

This is gonna be a long day.

\--

You wake up with someone prodding your arm.

You hadn’t even realised you’d fallen asleep but it makes sense, given that the topic of the seminar is on paper selling techniques and the speaker’s voice was the equivalent of white noise you shouldn’t be surprised though. You turn in the direction of the prodding and see Heather, almost as red as her blouse, which is now rolled up half of her forearm – if your stare at them for longer than socially appropriate no one has to know. You rub your eyes for a second, stifling a yawn.

“What the _hell_ are you doing Sawyer?”

“Uh, sleeping?”

“That part is obvious, but why?”

“Because this is boring.”

“We’re representing Westerburg, just like Dennis is representing DC.” You look around the auditorium, baring like two people, everyone looks half dead and ready to pull the fire alarm to vacate the premises as soon as possible.

“Look around, no one is paying attention. Besides we’re here on good sales, why do we need new techniques?”

She huffs slightly and faces the front again, you lean on you hand and listen as the speaker drones on and on and on. Jesus, this is dull. Although your ears perk up when you hear him say that getting to know your client is important in sales and therefore a more relaxed technique is sometime better than a harder one. He makes a point to stress that learning about the client, their first name or where they went to school, Heather writes this down on a little notebook she has on her lap – something which barely anyone else is doing by the way.

“I thought it was inappropriate to call clients by their first names.” You whisper, smugness seeping into your tone. She whips her head toward you, a fearsome glare on her face. You feel like you’re supposed to be scared, but you’re not, you’ve seen her act like a normal person and the illusion of power hungry bitch doesn’t get you anymore. Then the speaker changes his mind, asshole, and says that it’s just as important to know when to push clients towards buying when it seems necessary. Heather looks so disgustingly triumphant when your face falls.

“He’s just covering all of the bases, he mentioned my technique first, that makes it better.” It may be childish, but she reacts so quietly violently that you find that you don’t mind one bit.

“Not really, ever heard of save the best til last?”

You roll your eyes, you’re not even going to dignify that with a response. She looks smug that you don’t reply. You stay slightly petulant for the remainder of the lecture, Heather primly sitting next to you, making notes. Your time is split between trying not to fall asleep and trying not to stare at Heather as she does lots of little, annoying things, like biting her pen – which is gross by the way – and she’ll tap her foot, but she doesn’t stick to a precise metre, she just goes all over the place, you can handle it if it stays at a tempo you can sing a song to in your head, but when it’s all over the place, you fond yourself wanting to take her pen and stab it in her leg.

Okay, maybe that was a bit violent, but, you have no excuse, you just thought it for a second.

Heather also where she tilts her head while listening to the useless speaker drone on about sales techniques – which is annoying because her jawline starts to pop and bit more and it’s rude to be that attractive and please stop thinking like that Veronica, this is not the path you want to go on.

The lecture _finally_ ends and you clap for the guy at the front, who honestly seems to be just as glad that this is all over. You stand almost immediately, only to see Heather taking her sweet, sweet time.

“Will you hurry up?”

She makes eye contact with you and puts her notebook in her handbag even slower than before, oh my god, could she be any more irritating?

She’s finally ready to go when you’re pretty much the final people in the auditorium. You leave quickly, heading outside to have a smoke, you deserve this break. Hopefully it’ll also be a break from Heather.

You’re wrong.

The centre where the convention is being held is right next to a main road, cars as swinging by, there’s a group of teens opposite the way, they’re on a little island in the middle of the road. They’re all laughing and grabbing at each other in that way that friends do. They remind you of you in college, you have prospects then, you enjoyed life a bit more. God that’s depressing, less reminiscing, more focusing on smoking with your work nemesis.

You feel calmer as you exhale, you’re hands are slightly cold from the weather but your jacket keeps you warm. Heather is rifling through her handbag, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. She’s muttering all sorts of things to herself.

“Wanna light?”

“I can do it myself thanks.” You roll your eyes and hold out your lighter anyway, she grabs it, lights her cigarette then thrusts it back to you, as if she does it fast enough the fact that she needed your help didn’t happen. You stay in silence, smoking. You see a boy across the way rolling something, whether it’s a cigarette or something else is none of your business.

“I used to roll cigarettes in college.” You say, almost as an olive branch. Heather snorts.

“I could imagine that, you seemed like you could be the pretentious student type.”

“Get this, I also majored in English Lit.”

Heather laughs a bit more at that.

“I reckon you were the preppy type.” You say, turning to face her slightly, she shakes her head, staring at the ground for a second before looking at you.

“No, I was the worst. I was in the closet for all of High School, so I went absolutely crazy Freshman year. By senior year I was a workaholic, so my personality did a 180 twice.”

“It did a 360?” Her mouth opens and shut, a bit like a fish, and you smile.

“I hate you.”

You laugh at that.

\--

By then end of the day your feet _kill._

You can’t imagine how Heather feels, she’s worn heels all day. When you get back to the room, you haven’t talked to each other for two hours, ever since your smoke break.

There was a lot of standing and talking and listening and it was boring, _so boring,_ Heather’s cheeks burn from all of the fake smiling she’s done all day, yours certainly do. Your head feels like mush as you open the door to the hotel room, with Heather trailing behind you instead of blazing in front of you. All the information you’ve obtained went in one ear and out of the other, you wish you could sleep in your own comfy bed with a hard mattress for your back and nobody else in it. You wish you could be with Martha and watch shitty reality tv and get wine drunk together. Anything then have to spend another 48 hours with a woman who you want to stab with a pencil – but who you’re also getting used to and it’s kinda funny to make her head explode?

Ugh, even with a head full of nothing these feelings like to pop up. Being lonely is one hell of a drug.

You do your best not to jump on the bed and pass out, instead taking off your shoes and starting to undo your shirt. She slips out of her heels and makes a groan that would make the couple who fucked next door embarrassed. You clear your throat slightly and turn to your suitcase to ignore how red your face becomes at the noise.

“You hog the blanket by the way.” Heather’s voice comes from the other side of the room, she sounds kinda tired, but still like she was ready to debate on Democratic Socialism against Socialist Democrats – surprisingly there is a difference, Martha ranted about it the last time you guys got properly drunk together, you miss her. You look over to see her make her way to the bathroom.

“I do not.”

“You totally do.” She’s staring into the bathroom mirror, taking off her earrings and putting them in one of her many bags.

“Well, you kick.” Is all you can come up with, it does the trick though as she’s halfway through removing her lipstick and she turns to you with an indignant look on her face.

“How dare you!”

“Woah, defensive much?” She splutters slightly, which causes you to laugh a bit. She turns back to the mirror and finishes removing her make-up. She moves toward the door, making eye contact with you and closing the door. Jesus, what a reaction, that was _not_ what you expected. You take the opportunity of her in the bathroom to change into your pyjamas.

She leaves the bathroom in the same obnoxious pyjamas as before, her hair is down again, she’s got freckles, you didn’t notice yesterday because you were so focused on her glasses but – freckles, holy shit.

“Have I got something on my face?”

_Yes freckles, a whole load of them._

You roll your eyes and go to brush your teeth.

“And I don’t kick!” She says behind you, getting into the bed.

“Yes you do!” You imagine her rolling her eyes, you can hear her muttering things to herself again.

When you leave the bathroom again the room is pitch black except for your lamp. You go to lie down, turning the lamp off on your way.

“See ya tomorrow Chandler.”

“Yeah yeah, see you.”

You settle into the pillows when you hear one last sentence before getting to sleep:

“I don’t kick.”

You roll your eyes and bring the duvet up to your shoulders and sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

You wake up warm again.

The slightly scratchy sheet are against your face but you find you don’t care because you’re enveloped in warmth in a way you haven’t been in years. There’s an arm around you and a smell of flowery perfume that isn’t yours and shit-

What do you do when you realise that the woman that you’re at least 75% sure you despise is spooning you?

You’re stuck between absolutely loving the feeling of being held and the awful sinking feeling in your stomach that means that you’re actually figuring out that you _really_ don’t mind being held by Heather Chandler. You spend some time, it’s at least ten minutes but no one needs to know that, deciding on whether to move on not. In the end you make the executive decision to stay still, moving would most likely wake her up and you _really_ don’t want to be blamed for this predicament especially when it’s her spooning _you_ and not the other way around. You’re so _close_ to each other, her hand is intertwined with yours, you can feel puffs of air on the back of your neck and you’re pressed right up against her – _right_ up against her.

She moves slightly and somehow gets even closer to you, you feel her nose, or some part of her face but nose makes the most sense touch the back of your neck, you’re so goddamn close to imploding you don’t know what to do. There’s this whirlwind of emotions where you go from hating this to loving this to hating her but not really hating her?

Ugh think of something else.

Your article.

Crap, you were supposed to get up early to work on your article, goddamn you Heather and your comfy spooning that makes it inconvenient to get up, you have a look at the clock to find that it’s only half seven and – in your humble opinion, you’re almost certain that Heather would think that you’re already behind schedule – that means you may have a bit of time to work on whatever they send you, and hopefully won’t mind that it will probably be completely awful.

It doesn’t take Heather long to wake up, you feel her stiffen against your back and you hold you’re breathe. Should you pretend to be asleep, should you act like you just woke up, what should you do?

Luckily she just slowly extracts herself, like the did the day before and heads to the bathroom quickly. You let out a sigh and sit up, taking a second to let your mind reel about how you’ve gone from bickering at almost every turn during the day to accidently spooning in the middle of the night. You find a hair-tie you left on the bedside table the night before and do a quick messy bun before finding your laptop and trying to find what the hell you’ve been sent this week.

There is both good and bad news when you open your email.

This is the only time you really check you’re email correctly, you have to admit that you’re pretty bad at looking at your company email account, Betty always calls you out on it but you find that people end up telling you anyway.

So, the bad news, two articles and almost no time to complete them.

Good news, two articles, one about the 7/11 Slurpee recipe and it’s iterations through time, you’re guessing there can’t be that many right? Spoiler alert, you’re right. The other is about actual real world things, someone wanting to run for Governor of Ohio, that’s new.

That’s great, that’s something _real._ It’s something that means you can be treated more seriously in the publishing world. They trust you to write something that’s about something, you can’t help the smile that’s probably making you look like a crazy person and the way that your arms wave slightly stupidly around you, you almost elbow the desk you’re sitting at and the uncomfortable chair that the hotel’s given you but you don’t care.

Things are moving, slowly, but they’re moving.

Heather comes out of the bathroom to find you still smiling at your laptop.

“What’s got you all excited?” Her voice is slightly sarcastic but, for once, you don’t want to rise to the bait.

“I’ve got two articles, one of them is about something vaguely important.”

You turn to see her, in a black bra and matching suit pants, you don’t freeze up like you did yesterday, but your gaze my slip now and again. She chews on her cheek for a second before looking at you right in the eyes.

“Good for you Sawyer.” She turns to find whatever shirt she’s going to wearing throughout the day, surprise surprise, she pulls out a red shirt. It’s a darker colour this time, more like a burgundy or something instead of the bold red that she wore yesterday.

“We gotta get going, we were almost late to the first lecture yesterday.”

“We were fifteen minutes early.”

“Exactly.”

“You confuse me.”

She gives you a look.

“Look, I need to get these done or I’ll be stuck selling paper forever. I’ll meet you in the lecture, save a place for me, I’ll just not be half an hour early.”

Something about your tone must make her a slightly decent human being because she replies with:

“Okay, I’ll do all the Fleming bullshit for the morning then you can join me after lunch, if anyone asks I’ll just say that you got a cough or something.”

You were not expecting that, you were expecting her to force you into going with her, or bullying you to stay but with the repercussions of telling Fleming. Not for her to cover your ass. Your mouth opens and closes while you blind slightly uncontrollably.

“Are you going to have a seizure?”

“No, um, that was just unexpected, thanks.”

“Well, you owe me. See you later, and get your ‘you’re and yours’ the right way around this time.” With that she leaves, handbag and heels in tow. She doesn’t even look back, she just goes and you’re stuck there, glued to the chair.

You’ve been through the ringer of emotions in the half an hour since you woke up, why is she like this?

Oh yeah, because she’s Heather Chandler and she makes no sense. You crack your knuckles and get going on your articles.

\--

You don’t fall asleep during the seminar today, because this one is just plain-ass weird.

Even Heather is confused.

It’s not in an auditorium but an emptied out dining room and everyone is sitting cross-legged, or in that weird mermaid position if you’re wearing a skirt. The woman at the front is dressed like Fleming but younger and looks more coked out. She waves her arms about it the same way that you did this morning when you found out about the articles.

Speaking of, you’re proud of how you were able to plough through the articles – being a bit attentive to your ‘your and you’re’s but do _not_ tell Heather – and only being five minutes late to lunch. The Slurpee one was surprisingly interesting, as was the giddy excitement you constantly got when you got to research real things about real people that will effect reality. Needless to say your cheeks hurt slightly from smiling by the time lunch came around. Heather hasn’t said anything about your good mood, which is odd because the one time you came into work actually happy (Martha had had the previous evening off work) she askes if you’d finally gotten lad because ‘no one glows like that unless they’ve died a few times, Sawyer’ and walked off to get coffee.

Maybe it’s because she didn’t want to bring up the two of you and bed in any capacity.

“Why the fuck did Fleming chose this?” Heather whispers to you as the woman at the front goes on about spiritual energy and the importance of getting along at the workplace.

“Have you seen the woman? She probably went to Woodstock and got so off her face that she doesn’t remember that she went to Woodstock.”

You can’t believe it but Heather bites her lip to stop from smiling too much. You get distracted by the movement for a second, before she schools her expression.

“But how will this help us sell more paper?”

“Maybe she thinks that the vibes in the office need to be better and we’ll reinforce that.” Heather scoffs quietly and someone in the room shushes toward the two of you, your shoulders rise up awkwardly while Heather send the person who shushes a pretty deadly glare. Nevertheless, she waits a few minutes before talking, the woman has moved from talking about energy to the companionship of sharing office space. That’s the point where Heather discreetly leans toward Veronica.

“Yeah right, she chose the worst two people in the office.” She whispers out the side of her mouth.

“What do you mean, you’re just a ray of sunshine?”

That causes Heather to roll her eyes but she’s smiling slightly again.

“Should we go?”

You look around to see a few people looking genuinely interested in what budget Fleming is saying, but most have the same confused expressions on their faces that you and Heather have. You discreetly check your watch, Heather looks at it too, eyebrows furrowing at its asymmetrical nature.

“There’s only fifteen minutes left, the moment to leave has passed.” Heather huffs at that but stays upright and staring ahead at the woman.

The next fifteen minutes pass excruciatingly slowly, you learn partway through that staring at your watch only leads to disappointment every time.

The woman _finally_ offers her closing statement and Heather pretty much jumps up, clapping for all of two seconds before dragging you out of the hall.

“Woah, calm down will you?” you say rubbing the wrist that she dragged you with.

“My ex loved that mumbo jumbo, it just reminded me of her.” She curls into herself a bit, her arms crossed, she stares at the ground and you can’t help but feel a bit sorry for her.

“Ah, still a fresh wound huh?” You say, not very compassionately but it’s something?

“None of your business Sawyer.”

You raise your hands in a surrendering gesture.

“We’re not talking about this.” She looks right at you and you almost gulp from the intensity of her glare. She starts walking toward the spot where you smoked yesterday. She remembered her lighter today and watched you while you lit your cigarette as if waiting for you to talk.

“Okay, are we going to Dennis’ tonight?”

“No.” An unequivocal answer, but you will convince her.

“Come on, it could be fun.”

“It won’t be.”

“Who says?”

“Me.”

“Oh my _god_ you’re frustrating.”

“We’re in a car for eight hours tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ve been in a car hungover before.”

“You plan on getting hungover?” She says incredulously, you hold up your hands to placate her, you honestly weren’t planning to but it just slipped out.

“No, I mean that it isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Why don’t you just go by yourself.” She shrugs.

“Because he’s your friend, I can’t show up and be like ‘hey, remember me? We shook hands? Heather can’t make it’.”

“Yes you can.”

“No I can’t because it’s rude, plus you’ll get to talk to your friends again.”

“Fine, but only for a couple hours.”

Before you can even respond, she stubs her cigarette out on the wall and struts off leaving you to almost run after her.

You have garnered a stitch, but at least you convinced her to go.

\--

A ‘get-together’ in a hotel room at a paper selling conference looks just as you would expect.

An interesting mix of sad and fun.

The sad comes from the fact that there’s only 15 people there.

The fun comes from the fact that you can see a man doing a makeshift-keg stand, a small group of people cheering him on, there’s some random shitty pop playing, there’s some people making out and you’ll pretty sure that they’re going to regret that in the morning.

Dennis opens the door with a wide smile on his face and a bottle of beer, his smile widens even further on seeing Heather.

Speaking of, for someone who was adamant that she didn’t want to go, she made sure that you changed out of your clothes during the day and put on some lip gloss.

He hands you and Heather some shitty hotel beer they clearly payed for with the company credit card at the bar downstairs before coming up to the room and repeat and repeat. Or at least that’s the way that you’d do it. Heather has a smile on her face, the same kinda one that she had when she was talking to Dennis at breakfast. You stand in an awkward three for a second, drinking your beers in silence.

“I’m gonna talk to Jeremy.” She says, taking a drink of her beer and walks off toward a nerdy looking man in a red sweater vest who lights up when he sees Heather. Then, rather surprisingly, you see them have a long handshake.

“I’m just gonna, yeah.” You walk away from the awkward conversation trap with Dennis to find some people playing cards. That’s where you spend most of the evening, playing cards with some people from Florida and Oregon. You find out that people from Florida have the _craziest_ stories while Oregon man just pops up with one word replies that end up making the whole group laugh. You also find out that you are complete garbage at cheat, but can destroy everyone at Blackjack – something you can thank your Dad for. It’s the first time since you’ve come to Philly that your mind hasn’t been completely occupied by Heather, that’s not to say that you don’t glance up to see her now and again.

She’s just so goddamn attractive it’s infuriating.

Eventually you leave the cardplayers, with all of their Instagram handles and a very bruised hand thanks to Irish snap and Oregon-man’s many rings that he refused to take off. That’s when you run into Dennis, you end up leaning on either side of the small hallway from the door, it’s slightly quieter and you can hear him talk a bit better.

“So, Sawyer. How’s Heather?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is she doing?” He says like it’s obvious, taking a drink from his beer, you do the same before answering his question.

“I dunno, we’re not really friends.” You shrug, looking down before meeting his eyes again. “Well, we’re friends in the sense that our cubicles are next to each other and we’ve been stuck at this convention together.”

“Stuck?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, we just argue a lot.”

“Hm.” He looks across the room to where Heather is still talking to Jeremy, she throws her head back in genuine laughter and you can’t help but stare at her for a second. You turn back to Dennis to find him staring at his beer.

“What?”

“I’m glad she’s back on her feet, ever since Grace-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. You get the idea not to push the topic of Grace so you stay quiet until he changes the topic of conversation. “Why do you guys have cubicles? We just have normal desks.”

“Oh, we used to-“ You launch into the story of Ram and Kurt and why you have to have cubicles instead of bare desks. It makes Dennis laugh so hard that he can barely breathe and you feel pretty good, you’re on your third beer by now and are starting to get a bit tipsy. You end up getting along quite well with Dennis, plus he gives you some insight into Heather’s psyche. Like, you find out that she is an avid fan of baseball, like a crazy competitive one and get’s hyped for whenever the Boston Red Sox plays the Yankees, because she’s from Boston apparently? You also find out that she was a bit of a prankster in DC and put someone’s stapler in jello.

The more you learn about her, the more you like her, so why on earth does she act like a stick lives up her ass, constantly argue with you and think that she’s better than you on most days? Why do you even care? Ugh, life was easier when you just hated your job, were slightly (very) lonely and only hung out with Martha.

Speaking of the devil, she comes up to you and Dennis, declaring:

“Let’s go Sawyer, I don’t want to have to roll you to the car tomorrow.”

“You guys drove here?” Dennis asks, looking positively disgusted at the fact.

“Actually I drove here because Heather can’t drive stick.” He looks even more scandalised at that.

“Wow, you let someone else drive for once?”

“I can loosen control now and again Dennis.” She says, arms crossed, tapping her foot, the classic Heather Chandler pose.

“You almost lost your mind when we went to Waffle house for lunch.”

“You got Heather in a waffle house?”

“Sawyer, we’re leaving, now!”

“Okay okay, bye Dennis.” You say, giving him a high five, he smiles at you before hugging Heather.

“If you’re ever in Ohio-“

“I will make you come to me because I am _not_ going to Sherwood.”

“What? Dennis I thought we had a connection.” You joke.

“I hate Sherwood more than I like you Sawyer.” He says back but he has a massive smile on his face. “But genuinely, I will come see you if I end up near Sherwood.” He gives Heather a final hug before you’re out of the door.

You don’t say anything on the way to the elevator or in the elevator itself, it’s only when you’re almost the door when Heather says something.

“I had fun.”

“I knew you would.”

“Yeah well, being smug isn’t cute Sawyer.”

“That was a weak one Chandler.”

Then you open the door, Heather breezing past you, her flowery perfume reminding you of this morning.

“I think we could be friends.” She says, kicking off her heels and removing her earrings.

“Nah, we’d argue too much.” You reply, doing the same and then changing into your pyjamas while she closes the bathroom to get changed in. Heather comes out the bathroom to find you already in bed.

“You’re just afraid that I’d wreck you at Mario Kart.” She says getting into bed, you’re facing away from her but you turn around until you’re on your side staring at her, she does the same.

“Take that back, right now.”

“No, I think you’re too chicken shit to beat me in a game.”

“I would beat your ass.”

“Hm, we’ll have to see.”

That’s when you realise that you’re pretty goddamn close to her and she’s pretty goddamn close to you. You can tell because her eyes widen and you’re pretty damn sure her brain explodes because she just stays still.

“Night Chandler.”

“Night Sawyer.”

You turn over and try to get to sleep.

It takes you at least half an hour but no one needs to know that.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a week and a bit since you and Heather had returned from the trip, since then you and her and been… civil.

You had woken up alone on the final day of the trip, she was already in the shower and pretty much packed by the time you had even gotten up. Then she was her usual annoying self, practically shoving you into the bathroom – you may be exaggerating but no one needs to know that – and making the bed to military precision. There’s no time to talk about how close you got last night, or being challenged at Mario Kart or how she asked to be friends – maybe it was a rare moment of vulnerability. No, Heather doesn’t even know what vulnerability means. Okay that was kinda harsh Veronica, she hadn’t been too annoying over the four days, and she even covered for you when you needed the third morning off, plus she didn’t kick too hard, you were just joking around about that because it’s fun to mess with her and watch her head explode a little.

The subsequent drive had been mainly in silence, only with a lot of bickering in terms of snacks, where Heather defended her love for Corn-nuts which is straight up gross, and you defended how refreshingly painful brain freeze is, she’d looked genuinely worried for you for a second before remembering that she was supposed to dislike you in some way and narrowed her eyes and bought your Slurpee anyway. It was kinda cool to know everything about Slurpee’s while drinking one, now and again, you’d tell Heather a fact about the drink and she’d roll her eyes pretty much every time but you could see her suppressing a smile now and again.

Heather offered you bits of herself on the way back to Sherwood, you don’t know if she noticed, or if it was on purpose or if she even cared, but she did. She was anxious after the stop for lunch, her leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and she kept checking the time and her hand kept reaching for the radio.

“Will you quit it?” You had said, it was difficult for hours safely, let alone with a distraction of a human next to you. It was unlike her, to show emotions so openly like that.

“Quit what?” God, did she not even notice?

“Bouncing your leg, reaching for the radio, if you want to listen to something, go for it.”

There was some 90s classics that was playing but you weren’t really listening, it was mainly just to fill the silence as she ate BQ Corn-nuts and you slurped away at your drink. She immediately turned off the CD and tuned it to a station where sports were playing, great. You didn’t understand half of what the pundits were saying but it seemed to placate Heather a bit. Now and again she would pump her fist in the air or look like a cod-fish who was very outraged at whatever they were saying. You should probably watch more sports, you thought, then you _really_ thought about it and made the executive decision to not do that; it’s just people hitting and catching a ball, then they win what? Actually you don’t even know what baseball winners win.

You started to notice little things about her, without staring too openly because 1) gross, she’s _Heather_ and 2) you’re driving. She stares up when she thinks, almost straight up to the roof and she clenches her jaw when a thought isn’t going her way. She’s good at hiding her emotions, so much so that you’re confused half the time talking to her, but that makes arguments with her all the more fun.

And then during the week she made you coffee, then you made her coffee, then it became a thing where, if she got a refill, she’d ask if you wanted one then you did the same. She didn’t give you evils for tapping, well it was more like diet-evils where it’s like she felt she had to narrow her eyes but she wasn’t really that pissed.

So it’s… civil.

You only got one article this week, you felt all your doubt and insecurities clog up your brain for a couple of minutes, afraid to open your email. But then you did, ready to be relegated to some random shit on movies or whatever and then your day lightens up, you read the by-line.

_Sawyer: Democratic Senators in Ohio_

Holy shit, you’re getting higher in the big leagues. Well, it’s not really the big leagues but it’s not puff pieces on nothing, it’s actually something worthwhile. You text Martha, who replies with lots of love hearts and emojis and tell Heather when she goes for refills and she smiles and gives you a ‘well done Sawyer’ before setting down to work and calling some clients. Your life seems to be fitting slightly into place, _finally._ Sure you miss Martha when she’s not there, you’re lonely quiet a lot of the time and you’re not really in touch with your emotions enough to know how you feel toward Heather, but you’re finally being treated like a journalist, kinda, and that makes your heart do some shit that you didn’t expect and you wish your Dad were here to listen tell you he’s proud of you.

No, don’t think about that.

You can hear him in your head, saying the words and it’s enough to put a smile on your face.

It’s a watery one but it’s a smile nonetheless.

And now you’re here, at ‘Valentines’ Party’ that McNamara set up during a lunch break. You’ll give her credit, it’s pretty good for fifty bucks but you’d honestly rather be doing anything but talking to most people in the office. There are a lot of hearts everywhere and a red tablecloth and food that’s really tiny and there’s not much left of it but McNamara’s smile is kinda worth the cheesiness of it all, she clearly put some time and effort into it and you appreciate it.

“You look ready to shoot yourself in the foot just to leave.” Betty says, sipping on some water, or at least you think it’s water you’re not entirely sure.

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe in gun violence. I’ll choke on something though, do you know the Heimlich?”

“I would _not_ trust myself with that Sawyer.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets, looking around the conference room. Ram and Kurt are acting suspicious by the small bowl of punch that McNamara brought, some others from the accounting department are swaying awkwardly to the music. You and Betty stand next to each other for a bit before she heads over to the punch bowl again, giving you a small salute as she walks away.

“Long time no see Veronica.” JD says, sauntering up to you, you hide a wince - you _cannot_ believe that a weird-ass Valentines party means this much socialising.

“Yeah.”

“Congrats on the field trip.”

“Thanks, hey how’s quitting going?” You attempt to have a conversation because he’s honestly not the worst guy, you’re just harsh on him. Mainly because he trained you and was a tad creepy, but he’s since grown as a person so you tended to forgive him his issues.

“I haven’t had a cigarette in 48 days.” He smiles slightly bashfully.

“Well done.” You clap him on the shoulder, he seems to be doing better since quitting, no more cornering you in the breakroom and you haven’t seen him wear that trench-coat in ages. You would it might help you become a better person but nicotine addiction effects different people in different ways, and you’re not entirely sure you’re addicted. You just need them to calm down now and again.

“We should hang out at some point, I promise I have more personality than only complaining about my job and giving you lighters.” He says with an easier smile on his face, then he takes a drink. “Just think about it.” Then he leaves the breakroom and heads back to his desk, giving you a little wave on the way out. You’re actually tempted, he seems a lot nicer than he was before, you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it; you were too busy annoying Heather and working on your article you suppose. Oh no, now you feel bad about avoiding him for so long, he’s stuck in the same lonely bag as you, Martha at least has some friends as the restaurant, while you avoid everyone in the office.

You follow JD’s lead and head back to your desk, spying that there’s only a few hours until the day ends.

\--

You end up missing your bus, and they come every half an hour and the temperature suddenly dropped as it normally does.

Great.

This is all because Fleming decided to ask for a report on the conference, for some reason, it’s not like she didn’t choose what lectures and shit you would attend. You roll your eyes just thinking about it, all you want to do is get home, order some pizza and watch some shitty TV with Martha. But no, St Valentine himself made it a personal vendetta of his to ruin your Valentine’s day, not that you really cared about the day or had a reason to care in a while but it’s nice to take your anger out on something stupid and irrational.

Your choice to not wear a jacket today was not a good one.

The sky was nice and blue this morning, it stretched out far with barely any clouds, now it’s grey and lonely and cold. There’s a sudden wind that you’d not been expecting, maybe you should read the weather in the mornings to avoid this. That would make sense.

You cross your arms and try to focus on keeping warm, yawning as a car pulls up to the curb.

A red car that’s low down on the road. With red nails on the wheels, a head pops out the window.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Sawyer, it’s about to rain, I remember your address.”

“Stalker.”

“Think of it as reparations for Philly.”

“I don’t need-“

You get interrupted by a couple of raindrops starting to come down, one trickles down your neck and it makes you shiver.

“Just get in the car, dumbass.”

You grumble as you get in, you practically slam the door, Heather tuts at the action then drives back into the one main(ish) road that Sherwood has. Her car still smells like the flowery perfume it did last time, the same smell that you couldn’t get away from when you woke up with her pressed up against you, now you’re in the same boat except you’re a lot less warm and comfy and happily tired.

“Thank you Heather.” She says sarcastically when you say nothing. You clear your throat.

“Yeah, thanks, sorry.” You see her shrug, it’s weird seeing her drive, after driving for so long the other week, at least her seats are comfier. Your back is comfier against the leather than the shitty material that smelt like old McDonalds fries that was there last week. The radio isn’t on this time, you can only hear the rain chucking it down against the windows and the wind-screen wipers trying their hardest to combat the water. You ignore the desire to watch and observe her by pulling out your phone. Your heart quickens when you see a text from Martha but it sinks when you actually read it.

_Heya V! I’ve been pulled into a double shift so I can get tomorrow night off – won’t be back for dinner_

_And yes that means we can play ‘the game’ again_ _😊_

“Fuck.” You exhale.

You don’t have keys. Maybe your landlord has a spare.

“You good Sawyer? You look like you’re about to puke in my car.”

No he fucking doesn’t, your landlord is a dick.

“My roommate isn’t home and I don’t have keys, fuck, she’s not going to be back until like 3am.”

Heather looks at her mirrors, about to turn. You get an idea, an awful, horrible idea that is an idea that might actually work.

“Say, wanna play that game of Mario Kart?”

Heather looks at you in surprise before she gets a sheepish look on her face.

“I don’t actually own a Wii, Mac does.”

“Oh so you’re all talk and no game?”

“Take that back.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Heather pulls up into a small parking space next to a series of shops with apartments above them, of course she managed to find a good little place somewhere instead of the shitty complex you live in.

“You’re staying over right?”

“Uh, what?”

“Where will you sleep until your roommate comes back?”

“The hallway?”

“Jesus you’re dumb Sawyer.”

She opens the door slightly, waiting for you to do the same.

“Do you want to stay in the car overnight?”

“It _is_ a very comfy car.”

“Come one Sawyer, don’t make me regret this.”

“Regret what?”

Is she really? Well, you did start it. Well, you just wanted to pass the time until she slept then you could walk home or whatever then nap in the hall until Martha gets back.

“I have a couch, I know we argue most of the time but I’m not an asshole, I’m ordering food anyway, I can drop you off at yours tomorrow.”

“That’s-“

“Nice, kind, lovely?”

You were going to say too much.

You roll your eyes and leave her car.

“What, was it all three?” She says, leaning against the roof of the car, with a smug expression on her face. The rain has stopped now but you’re sure it’ll start up again any second, you chose to ignore how Heather’s smug face and smirk and playful eyes make your stomach do weird things.

She leads you to a door next to a liquor store and opens it letting you go in first before locking it back up. Then you go through a second door then up the stairs to _another_ door and then you’re in her apartment.

It’s messier than you anticipated, not that you’d thought about Heather’s living arrangements.

There’s a shag carpet under an old, slightly janky, coffee table opposite a large TV and the walls are grey. There are books shoved in areas that there shouldn’t be, creating an organized chaos that actually makes sense, her kitchen goes directly into her living room and it’s all very nice and slightly comforting. There’s a closed door that you guess leads to her bedroom. Heather watches you watch her apartment, there’s something in her gaze that you can’t read for once.

“Shoes?” You interrupt whatever she’s thinking.

“Off.” It’s blunt and she kicks off her shoes, they hit a rack or shoes, mainly winter boots and a surprising pair of black crocs that you want to ask about but Heather is striding toward the window next to the sofa that’s wide open and has made a wet spot on the arm of the sofa. She closes it violently, cursing under her breath.

“I don’t have a Wii but I have Netflix?” She says to you, wiping her hands together, her eyebrows still furrowed as she stares at the wet area on the couch.

“Sounds good.” She ends up leaving you with an open Netflix page while she heads off to the closed door, you get a glimpse of grey wall and a shelf filled with CDs but her door quickly closes. You end up choosing ‘It’s Always Sunny’ and bask in the warmth of an apartment with real central heating. She comes back with her glasses and grey sweatpants and a baggy tshirt that falls slightly off her shoulder and you’ve never seen her this relaxed. Never. Even Philly Heather had silk pj’s and made you get up ridiculously early.

You hate how natural it feels to see her like this, after your surprise fades.

You don’t speak much, apart from Heather offering a drink or snack here or there. You don’t even get the need to say things that would make her irritated, mainly because she doesn’t do the same to you. You just sit in that same silence that was in the car, the one that is annoyingly _not_ tense or weird. You stay for hours, just sitting, Heather eventually grabs a beer and offers you one, not even asking, just shoving it in your arms. You feel slightly awkward, being inside someone else’s apartment is like being close to a part of them, especially when that person is Heather and you go from arguing to spooning to grabbing coffee for each other to bickering to banter? And you haven’t had to make friends since Middle School with Martha, and theoretically Betty. Is this how people make friends? Or is this how Heather makes friends? Are you even friends? You end up abandoning these thoughts and questions and mindlessly watch the TV and try your best not to stare at Heather and the way that her tshirt shows her shoulder and she has two moles on the back of her shoulder blade that you saw and, that really isn’t a better train of thoughts.

Your stomach rumbles later, when you’ve almost finished half a season, Heather has tucked her legs beneath her and watches, laughing at all the right points and rolling her eyes at all the wrong ones. She raises an eyebrow at you and you can do nothing but look slightly sheepish at the noise that just erupted from your stomach.

“Pizza okay?”

“Yeah, where you gettin’ it from?” You stretch out, making Heather wince at the way your shoulders pop.

“Gino’s” She says, not even thinking. You had low expectations (you really don’t at this point, you don’t even know why you’re trying to pass this off as low expectations) but not that low. Gino’s is a place that you and Martha used to work at as teenagers but quickly quit after your pay got cut and the bosses son was a lazy peace of shit. Also the pizza just isn’t very good.

“No, not Gino’s? That overpriced, greasy shit they sell ain’t pizza.”

“What? Do you get yours from 42nd?” Her tone is so incredulous that you’re ready to fight for the death for 42nd pizza. The sauce? Incredible. The cheese? Perfectly greasy. The pepperoni? Not too salty.

“Of course, what do you take me for?” You defend yourself.

“Well I thought you had some taste but clearly you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, _this_ feels familiar, this is territory that you’re used to. Not lounging in front of Heather’s TV, drinking beer in a companionable silence.

“We’re getting it from Gino’s, it’s my place.”

“I’m the guest.” You try to interject but she’s quick in her retort.

“Yeah, and I had to practically drag you over.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic is my middle name.”

“Piss off, that was a weak one.”

“I’ve had a tiring day.”

“Yeah, because Mac’s Valentines party was difficult.”

“Do you know how many conversational landmines I had to defuse while being stuck between JD and Fleming?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Ah you’re _so_ kind.” Someone clearly picks up the phone from the other side “Yes, a medium Margarita and-“ She looks at you. It takes a second for you to pick up what she means for you to say.

 _Pepperoni_ you mouth to her.

 _Basic_ she mouths back, you roll your eyes.

“A medium pepperoni, oh and garlic bread, thanks Georgie.” She hangs up the phone and gives you a look. “Pepperoni, really? I expected better than you Sawyer.”

“You can talk, margarita is the _most_ basic pizza.”

“It’s a classic!”

“You’re sounding very defensive over this, maybe you know how shit it is.”

“You’re an asshole Sawyer.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lovable one.”

“At least me car go against a common enemy.”

“What?”

“Pineapple of pizza.”

“Okay, so you’re a woman of _some_ taste.”

“Asshole.”

“I thought we already established this.”

She smiles slightly, before rolling her eyes and going to her kitchen.

“You don’t have something for that?” You call after her.

“I’m biding my time Sawyer. Beer?”

“Thanks.” She tosses it into your hand again, the spray hitting you a bit from the tumble, you make some sort of yelping noise that sets her off laughing. You would normally be focused on the beer soaking through your shirt but Heather snorts because she’s laughing so hard and you’re sort of very transfixed by the sound.

The pizza comes shortly after Heather finally calms down because it really isn’t _that_ funny and she should stop laughing. The pizza is better than when she was a teenager and even though she hates it on principle she still finishes the entire pie and sticks her tongue out at Heather when she’s smug about you finishing it. You look at her for a second while she watches TV, her jawline really is stupidly sharp and she bites her lip to stop a chuckle from spilling out. You have another look around her apartment, it’s smaller than you anticipated. She always wears these rich clothes and clearly has money, if her car is anything to go by. There are better places in Sherwood, and it’s not like it’s crazy big, you could get a place anywhere and it’d be easy to get to work.

Or she _had_ money and now she doesn’t? Is her job at the Dunder Mifflin paying for this? Why are you so invested?

God you hate your mind sometimes.

“So, uh, why are you so invested in this job?”

“I’m letting you crash at my place for a night, don’t get weird.” She takes a drink of her beer, her gaze fixed on the TV.

“Weird?”

“Like asking me questions, we’re not friends Sawyer.”

“You wanted to be the other night.”

“I was drunk.”

But she knows what night you’re talking about.

“You were not.”

“How are we arguing about friendship?”

“It’s our brand duh.”

She rolls her eyes and yawns then checks her watch, it’s almost comical how wide her eyes get when she looks. You glance at yours, finding that it’s hit around 10, you haven’t watched that much of It’s Always Sunny have you? You check and see that you’ve finished almost an entire season. Crap.

“As enticing as it is to debate about friendship, I’m going to turn in.”

“Okay.”

She goes to her room, then comes back out, throwing an oversized jumper, gym shorts and a blanket at you.

“Thanks.”

You change in the living room, because she doesn’t offer you any alternative, which honestly makes a lot of sense. She’ll be kind enough to not make you sleep in your hallway, but be a sarcastic little shit while she does. She’ll order pizza but from the shittiest place in town, and make you get changed in the middle of her cold(ish) living room.

You end up being the perfect height for the couch, your feet just touching the wet patch from earlier.

There’s a crack in her ceiling that you follow with your eyes.

Jesus, you never thought that you’d be so bloody stuck to Heather Chandler the first day you shook her hand. You thought that she’d just be another annoying co-worker that you would ignore while waiting for you life to start to make sense.

You’re not really friends with each other, except you kind of really are.

And you’re not quite sure what to think about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not to sure about this chapter, but it's necessary to the plot and I hope y'all like it xx

You wake up to a series of grunts.

No, seriously, a cupboard bangs and someone grunts and what sounds like a mug slamming on a surface.

You open your eyes to a crack in the ceiling.

You don’t have a crack in your ceiling, oh yeah, you’re at Heather’s.

_You’re at Heather’s._

This is fine.

(It isn’t).

“C’mon you hunk of junk – you got me through College, just a few more years.” Heather’s voice wafts from the kitchen to where you are curled up around a pillow on her sofa. You stretch, smiling at the feeling of your joints clicking. Heather has shitty blinds, it’s surprising you didn’t wake up from the way they’re letting the sun in. You realise that you’ve never actually seen Heather wake up, no in Philly you would fall back asleep or pretend to be asleep while she dashes to the bathroom. You’d always seen her bright and ready to insult you, although you’re starting to admit that the insults are getting weaker and weaker from both sides.

“Morning Chandler.” You say, loud enough that she’ll be able to hear you over her abuse of whatever she is hitting.

A grunt replies.

You get up, stretching again as you follow the noise of Heather accosting the coffee machine. You end up leaning against the doorframe of her kitchen.

“Have you lost the ability to talk or?”

“It’s early.”

“I remember you giving _me_ shit for not getting up on time in Philly.”

“Yeah well by that point I’d been up for like half an hour _and_ I’d showered.” She hits the coffee machine again.

“So you haven’t showered yet? I wondered what that smell was.” You tease her, your tone bordering on flirting, which is a weird thing to flirt about but you’re still waking up and Heather just rolls her eyes and pushes you slightly.

“Asshole.” She says narrowing her eyes at you, but she’s smiling and it’s half-hearted at best.

“I’ve had this machine for years, it went to California with me, then DC, to Sherwood, just a few more years.”

“California?”

“I went to UCLA.”

“Hm, that makes sense.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

You shrug. She watches you for a moment before hitting the machine again and it spurts to life. Her smile is infectious as she grabs a mug, turning to you, the offer is clear and you nod. She’s wearing the blouse from those ridiculous pyjamas and a pair of shorts that are really too short for February. You avoid looking at her _very_ long legs because 1) it’s creepy as hell to just stare at her and 2) this is _Heather_ we’re talking about here, you don’t even need to elaborate on the point. It’s silent, save for the coffee machine spluttering to life and Heather sleepily humming something.

She really is crap in the morning, it’s cute.

It’s crazy how she can go from ‘please step on me’ to ‘please cuddle me and watch a shitty rom-com with me’.

Not that you’ve thought of doing those things with her.

(You have).

But you’ll pretend you don’t because you don’t _like_ her you just have _lust_ for her because, hello, you have eyes and she’s attractive.

It’s all very domestic and you’re not quite sure what to think about it. Heather hasn’t insulted your fashion in a while, or even described you as childish or implied that she is better than you. You haven’t done the same either.

“Black, right?” She gestures toward a mug.

“Just some milk.”

“You always get black at work?”

A part of you warms at her remembering and the way her eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

“That’s because all the milk went and the other cartoon has been there since November.”

“What?”

“Yeah, thanks for buying that by the way.”

“I didn’t-“ She tries to deny.

“Please, you show up and the next day a carton of milk pops up? Yeah right.”

“I didn’t buy the milk.” She says, but she blushes slightly and you can’t help but notice how cute she looks when she does. She turns around and sloshing some milk in your coffees.

“Thanks for not letting me sleep in my hallway.”

“No problem Sawyer.”

You drink some more coffee, it’s some expensive brand that you can never bring yourself to buy and it slips easily past your tongue, waking you up after every gulp. Heather makes no effort to do anything except lean on the counter and drink coffee, she spends most of the time with her eye closed and holding her mug to her chest.

“So,”

Her head snaps up and she looks at you, slightly blearily.

“How does the workaholic spend her weekends?”

It’s kind of surface level and definitely blurs the line between workplace rivals and friends. Even though you’re pretty sure you’d never let Kurt or Ram crash at your place, but that’s because they’re public nuisances as opposed to actual human beings.

“I’m not a workaholic, I go home at the same time you do.”

“Yeah but you have a laser focus, plus you’re always there when I first get it.”

“Fine, I work at the weekends.”

And she tried to convince you that she’s not a obsessed with work.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I work.”

“What do you mean you work?”

“I mean I do stuff related to work.”

“Don’t you do stuff?”

“Like what?”

“Hobbies or something?”

“When was the last time we were told to have hobbies? Even College they tell you to give up by third year.”

“That’s sad.”

And an interesting look into Heather’s mind.

“It’s what being an adult is. What will you do for the next two days?”

“Hang out with Martha, watch TV, have a sleep that’s longer than six hours. Anything that isn’t work.”

“Well then what do you suggest I do?”

“Hang out with your friends.”

“Adults don’t have friends, you text twice a year ‘hey are you busy? It’s been a while let’s hang out’ once a year and then life is over.”

“Damn Chandler, your view of being an adult saddens me.”

“What’s your view of adulthood?”

“It’s like being a teenager but with more debt.”

Heather rolls her eyes, her smile wider than it was before.

“You’re annoying.”

“So are you.”

You check your watch, finding that it’s almost 9 and that Martha is probably worried about you since your phone decided to run out of battery. You suppose it is slightly your fault when your charger’s wire is half exposed; but it’s expensive to buy new ones when your old one works perfectly (it works like half the time) fine.

“Look, imma get changed and head out, try not to work yourself to death.”

“Aw that almost sounded like you care.”

You roll your eyes this time

“Do you want me to wash the clothes?”

Heather shakes her head and drinks her coffee. She wordlessly points towards her bathroom while pouring herself another cup.

Last night is all that runs through your mind as soon as you get to her bathroom.

Well, mainly, how it didn’t feel awkward or weird and how it just _happened._ Heather was not the worst, you barely argued and it was nice. You hate the word nice, there are so many better words that could be used, but it’s the one that feels the most right. I wasn’t great, it wasn’t life changing, but something shifted and you don’t know what to think. You need to leave before you get _far_ too comfortable in Heather’s apartment.

The bathroom is crazy neat, with everything packed away perfectly, you feel out of place just standing there. You get changed quickly, ignoring the mirror because you know that your hair is a mess and that there are bags the size of Ohio under your eyes.

Heather give you a little wave when you’re on the way out, looking back to her drill-sergent-yelling-at-you-to-get-out-of-bed self.

“See ya on Monday Sawyer.”

“Yeah, see ya on Monday.”

\--

Martha is, understandably, worried, and a bit pissed off, at the how late you get home and with no word of when you’d be back.

She is then confused when you tell her where you spent the night.

“Let me get this straight? You slept on Chandler’s couch? Less than a month ago you were telling me about how you wished she would ‘return home to hell so the devil doesn’t get lonely’.”

You’re not entirely sure how to respond to that. Because she’s right, you _did_ say that a couple weeks ago, along with a couple of other things that the red wine you had been drinking contributed to. And now things are different, your views on her have changed – only a bit, but you’re not used to your opinion changing, especially when it comes to people at work.

She’s sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to you, her hair still slightly damp from her shower, with a pink sweater and grey sweats and a mug of tea that she’s staring at you over.

“Yeah Martha it’s not a big deal.”

“But it is, there’s something going on here.”

“No there isn’t.”

“But there is.”

“Martha.” You plead with her, but she’s a woman on a mission.

“You talk about her all the time.”

“No I don’t.”

Martha raises an eyebrow at you and you wince slightly; you’re awfully aware that your tone is far too defensive and you say it far too quickly.

“Okay maybe I do, but that’s because she’s annoying.”

“No, the maître-de at the restaurant is annoying. Chandler has wormed her way under your skin, _that’s_ what you find annoying.”

“She’s just a person at work, who’s place I crashed at _one_ time.”

“No, you guys are _friends_ and you’re not admitting it because then you’ll have to admit your crush on her and she’s not admitting it because she seems to be the kind of person who doesn’t understand how emotions work.”

You fall back into the sofa, her words pounding in your head. She’s kind of, very, right. You can go down two routes here, either deny it or try to sort out your feelings and you _really_ don’t want to do that.

“Martha, where is this coming from?”

Why is she so obsessed with this? Maybe it’s because you came back so late without telling her. No, Martha doesn’t know how to do revenge.

No, you know why she’s pushing so hard about this.

Because she’s your best friend and you would do the same to her.

“Look, I didn’t want to say anything because you’re trapped in this cocoon of ‘I’m a lone badass who don’t need no person, I’ve got an emotional support bisexual and a work rivalry with someone who I am really attracted to and won’t shut up about.’ But you need to face your feelings for once.”

“The only feelings I have for Chandler is dislike.” You lie.

“Right.” She scoffs, taking a sip of her tea before placing it on the table next to the sofa. Oh fuck, whenever she does that shit gets real, you prepare yourself for the worst as you reply.

“She’s just someone at work who I’ve seen a disproportionate amount of times in the morning.”

Martha looks at you in disbelief.

“Veronica.”

“Martha.”

“You like work a lot more since she started right?”

“Martha.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes!”

She raises her eyebrow.

“Maybe!”

She tilts her head.

“Okay fine, yes I do, but it’s just because of change in the office.”

“Veronica, do you enjoy spending time with her?”

You’re about to blurt out an ‘of course I don’t!’ but you bite your tongue. Last night was fun, you enjoyed her presence, the car journeys weren’t that bad either and you _have_ been enjoying the civility of work, even cracking a few jokes with her when you grab coffee. You swallow your pride and look at Martha.

“I do.”

“Do you think about her a lot?”

You think about how much time you’ve spent with her, how _infuriating_ she is, how she can make you smile, how you think about her after she’s left you because she’s so confusing and she’s making you feel things in a confusing way and-

You do, you think about her almost all the time.

“I do.”

“You like her.”

You sink into the sofa further, feeling your eyebrows furrow as you do.

“Fuck, I have a crush on her.”

You feel your admission reverberate through your body as Martha gives you a reassuring pat on your knee.

“Now that you’re aware of these feelings, you can get over them.”

Yeah, like _that’s_ going to happen anytime soon.


	10. Chapter 10

February ends quicker than expected.

Time flows in that way where every day feels like a week but every week goes by in the same way the night does when you’re asleep. The sun begins to stay for longer, making your journey home a whole load more enjoyable in the setting sun rather than the night. Spring, however slowly, starts to arrive; you already start buying anti-histamine to combat all the pollen that’ll be in the air any second now. The warmth is a welcome change though, you don’t have to rely on coffee and too many layers to maintain heat. Dan shaved his beard to a neat stubble that you’re pretty sure you could start a fire off of.

You try not to think about your revelation because, really, it wasn’t a revelation at all. It was more like you played hide-and-seek with your feelings and you found then. You always knew they were there somewhere they just, suddenly got found. But you still don’t like her, it’s like this paradox, she’s irritating and annoying and thinks she’s better than everyone but you want to her kiss her and hug her and make her laugh and smile and ugh.

Feeling are the worst.

March starts easily.

You apply, for the billionth time, for a job at the Westerberg Press, the only newspaper outlet of miles around, hoping to at least get to the interview stage for once.

Martha gets a promotion at work and is able to take more time off to plan menus and be in charge of the produce.

Flemming breathes down your neck far too often but at least you haven’t interacted with Kurt or Ram for weeks.

Betty still shouts at you about emails or winks at you before she drinks any coffee.

And Heather?

You’re not sure.

She’s stopped looking at you with disdain, knows how you take your coffee (and you’re starting to like it when she makes it more than when you do and the thought of getting used to Heather making you coffee is only slightly terrifying from the domesticity of it all) and she actually smiles when she sees you. It’s not quite the relaxed grin she had when she saw Dennis, but it’s almost there.

You sigh as you enter the building, you’re starting to wish for the pre-Heather loneliness just because of how easy it was to wallow and be yourself because just because she’s now _aware_ of her own feelings doesn’t mean that she should think about them or even acknowledge them.

You head to the kitchen and immediately get trapped in conversation with McNamara.

Not the worst way to start the day, but not the best either.

“Morning Ronnie!”

“Hey McNamara.”

She’s bouncing more than normal. Usually it’s just a cheerful morning, followed by a cute recap of her weekend, you typically zone out at that point. You feel a bit bad about it but it’s so early and she’s just _so happy_ that you can only take small doses. Today though, it’s like she could power half of Sherwood with how she’s vibrating.

“You okay?”

“It’s twelfth anniversary with my wife this week.”

“Oh, well that’s great.” You try to drum up some enthusiasm because it’s the nice thing to do and being able to stay with one person for twelve years is truly an amazing feat. You try to imagine staying with your high school boyfriend but then you remember that you’d subject yourself to a lifetime of kisses with stubble and tongue invading your mouth.

“Thank you Ronnie! Anyone special in your life?” She says it so innocently. Your mind drifts to Heather and what Martha said yesterday.

_You like her._

“No, not at the moment.” You answer into your coffee and McNamara makes an awkward face before smiling at you again, it’s slightly less cheerful than the one before, has your loneliness and crush on someone who barely likes you upsetting to her? “Do you have any plans for it?”

Her smile gets brighter, you admit she’s growing on you, even if she’s far too much in the morning. She starts rattling of her plans, her excitement starting to rub off on you. She looks over your shoulder and her smile becomes blinding as she waves to whoever’s behind you.

“Morning Heather!”

“Hey Mac, Sawyer.”

“Morning Chandler, I had a great weekend, how was yours?” You say sarcastically.

True to form, she rolls her eyes, grinning slightly as she does.

“Do you have the Henderson account?”

“Come on, it’s not even nine yet, do we have to talk about accounts?”

“Yes, Sawyer, some of us care about this job.”

You sigh, that’s like her favourite line.

“It’s the third extension on my phone, but I talked to Henderson yesterday – he ordered four reams of A3 card.”

“I know, we just need some information about their sister company and the boys somehow lost the number.”

“Not even Flemming knows it?”

“It’s a mess Sawyer. Third extension right?”

“Yeah.”

She nods and leaves and you let out a sigh. McNamara looks at you with an odd expression on her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes! Of course, should probably head to my desk.” She smiles at you again and exits the room after Heather.

Weird.

You grab a second cup of coffee and see Heather’s red mug empty. You quickly fill it with her order before you can think too hard about the situation and head back to you cubicle. Her phone rests between her ear and her shoulder as she’s vigorously writing something down. You knock on the wall of her cubicle, her head snaps to yours. She takes the mug with a thankful look.

“You’re a life-saver.” She whispers. “Of course, Mr Henderson, we’re sorry for the disruption.”

You slump into your chair. Thinking about what to do with Heather.

In movies people go after their crushes, in books they pine. You don’t want to do that. You like your half-friendship/rivalry thing where she still gets on your damn nerves but in a cute way. There is a very high probability that she will _not_ like you back so you’ll do the borderline unhealthy thing and repress that shit, or acting purely like you’re just friends and that you hold no romantic feelings toward her. No one has to know, except Martha, and you can go on with your day of selling paper.

You sit up and start work.

That’ll be a good distraction.

\--

You end up selling a lot of paper.

That’s why you’re the top salesperson.

Because you, like every other functioning adult, use their job as a distraction from their feelings. You hate it when people bring their shit from home into work, apart from when McNamara does it because she does it in a positive way. Leave your shit at home, it’s stinking up the office. It’s a shit enough job already, don’t bring whatever the fuck is happening here.

“Hey Veronica, do you mind?” JD’s voice jerks you out of your thoughts, he gestures to the table with his sack lunch, an easy smile on his face – much better than his Cheshire Cat grin that he used to do.

You’re about to decline but you remember the hope in his eyes on Valentine’s, plus liking someone other than Betty and Heather would be nice.

“Go ahead.”

“Listen, I just wanna apologise, properly, for making you uncomfortable. I really liked being your friend and I was hoping that we could get back to that.” He sounds so sincere, as much as you hate the job and the awkward complaining he would do to talk to you, you do think he’d be a great friend again.

“Okay. Tell me about you, what have I missed?”

You know he’s not one for big fanfare, and he knows that you’ve already got one emotional support bisexual, you don’t need two. Martha is more of a sweet-words-while-holding-your-hair-back-because-you-drank-too-much-again while JD is much more ‘you puked? Here’s some vodka to wash it down, wanna start a mosh pit?’ It’s a good balance.

“Well, uh, I got a dog, she’s called Kelly.”

“Ah, cute name.”

“What about you? Anything new?”

Your mind drifts to Heather for the second time today. You take a bite of your sandwich, nothing goes wrong with a PB&J.

“Nah, not really, Martha got a promotion so I see her more. I applied for another job in a paper.”

“Ah, well, good luck. Do you want to know about what Ram and Kurt have been talking about all morning?”

He leans forward, a conspirator smile on his face. There are _many_ downsides to sitting near Ram and Kurt – as the accounting department does – but there are some plus sides.

“Come on Dean, don’t leave me in the dark here.”

“What is the best way to ask your doctor for prescription deodorant.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“They were talking about it for hours, I heard them decline calls for it.”

“I don’t think you understand how much that’s made my day.”

“That’s kind of you Veronica.”

“They could just ask me, I can fake anyone’s handwriting.”

“Nah you can’t.”

“I can! Write something.”

He hold up his hands before pulling a piece of slightly crumpled paper from his pocket and writing something. You take the pencil, JD shakes his head not believing you can do it so you prove him wrong and copy it, _perfectly,_ the line below then push it toward him.

“I’m sorry Veronica, but I think you need glasses, I don’t write my ‘G’s like that.”

“You totally do.”

“Hey Chandler, do these look the same.”

You didn’t even notice her come in, but you do when her hand rests on the back of your chair and you can smell her flowery perfume.

“Hate to break it to you Jesse James, but Sawyer’s done a pretty darn good copy.”

JD rolls his eyes at her, taking the nickname in his stride.

“Come join us for lunch, blondie, we’re talking about the office’s greatest pair of idiots.”

“As fun as that is, I have to do some emails over lunch, Flemming’s being a real task-master.” She says, backing out of the breakroom.

“Isn’t that the kinda shit you love?” You call after her, she gives you the finger and smiles at you.

Heather smiles at you, her nose crinkling and eyes looking directly into yours and you really hope you’re not blushing because your heart is beating faster and her smile is _doing_ thing to you so you do the adult thing to do.

Grab your cigarettes and vacate the premises.

You smile at JD, who just raises his mug as a goodbye, a knowing look on his face.

God you don’t want to think about that right now.

Of course Heather ends up next to you in around half a minute. Or maybe it’s longer, you don’t know, you just stare at Flemming’s car as you smoke.

There’s so much you don’t know about her, so much you want to find out. Why she cared about this job so much, why she chose Sherwood, why anything. Although your journalistic tendencies make you nosy, you ignore them and settle for an easy route – McNamara.

“McNamara’s been with her wife forever huh?”

“Yeah, I knew them in High School.”

“Oh my god, was she even bubblier back then?”

“She was the human equivalent of a fizzed up bottle of sprite.” She says completely deadpan, then she looks at you and her eyes are twinkling and you hide your smile by taking another drag.

“Anyone catch your eye in lil old Sherwood?”

“I don’t think I’ll be looking to date for a while.”

Okay, ouch. That hurt, but honestly, you didn’t expect any better chances for you. She clearly had a real shitty break-up and at this point you’re used to unrequited crushes.

“Yeah. What did happen between you and, Grace was it?”

She looks slightly panicked, but takes a deep breath and slowly speaks.

“Sawyer I-“

“Sorry, you probably don’t want talk about this-“

“She cheated on me.” She says, slowly, firmly, ending the conversation.

You think back to your conversation in the Waffle House off the highway, all of her friends chose the cheater over her, that’s fucked up.

“Oh, fuck Heather I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay.”

“Still.”

You remain silent for a bit longer, Heather staring at the ground, looking a bit vulnerable and you wishing that there was a way that you could shove your foot in your mouth in a way that would result in choking rather than whatever this is.

“Look Chandler, no homo but-“

“No homo?” Her head snaps up. “You think just because I’m gay that I’m going to be attracted to you?” She interrupts you, genuine anger filling her tone.

Yes, you hope, but this clearly is not the most important thing here. Well, not just because she’s gay but because you’re a girl and she likes girls and you need to stop thinking and say something before she punches you in the face.

“No, I’m bi but also, given your psyche you’d probably think I wanna bone you or something.”

Her psyche wouldn’t be wrong but Heather doesn’t need to know that.

“Bone?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“We’re getting off topic. All I was gonna say – before I was so rudely interrupted – was that you’re hot, and clever and are passionate about this job – even if it is a dead end one. You didn’t deserve that.”

She clears her throat softly, looking at the ground again.

“Thanks Sawyer.”

“Yeah well, I’m an Aquarius.”

“You believe in that shit?”

“No, but I don’t know how to have conversations.”

“Ugh can we go back to arguing or something, this is gross.”

“I agree.”

You go back to silence, smoking away. You kind of wish that your cigarette would stop burning so quickly, so that you could spend more time like this with Heather, instead of behind desks and phones and with work to do.

“Speaking of where we can argue and McNamara; she wants me to cat-sit while she has her anniversary with her wife so I was wondering if you wanted to lose at Mario Kart.”

That’s more like it. Oh, that sounds like a great time.

“Oh it’s on like Donkey Kong.”

She laughs at you, her delightful one with a few snorts thrown in. You find yourself smiling too.

“You’re a dork.”

“I thought I was an asshole.”

“You can be both.”

You stub out your cigarette on the wall, Heather crunches hers beneath her heel.

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Your phone, give me.”

"So demanding, yeesh."

She takes your cracked Samsung out of your hands while rolling her eyes at your statement. She simply raises an eyebrow at the state of your phone and types in something.

“Now you have my number.”

“What?”

“Congrats Sawyer, you’ve succeeded where many men have failed before you.”

She heads back inside with a smile on her face and a wink in your direction.

If you thought that her smile made you go crazy, this was worse. Honestly, it was better when you didn’t know about these feelings, or at least you weren’t aware of them.

Good god Veronica, get a grip.

You straighten yourself and go back in.

You can act like a woman _without_ a crush, do it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No1, there's an Uuuunhhh reference in here, i hope y'all find it  
> No2, the song 'She's So High' by Tal Bachman was on repeat while writing this  
> No3, this is basically fluff so I hope y'all enjoy :)

Life is moving slowly.

You wait every day for a reply from the Press, you don’t care if you don’t get in, you just want to know. You’re actually, regularly checking your email – you feel like a real adult for once.

You’re at a new stage with Heather now. The kind where you send each other shitty memes with no context and text each other now and again. You’re not constantly staring at your phone, well, maybe you are because you’re waiting for her to text or reply or crap - this is stupid. But, anyways, you’re not constantly staring at your phone, but it’s enough to mean _something,_ like you’re definitely friends, at least a little, even though you still haven’t called each other by your first names, but you don’t want to start that and get it wrong.

All these irritating feelings aside, you’ve come to another realisation: Heather texts like an old woman.

Or at least a middle aged one.

No emojis, no shortening of words, perfect grammar – at the beginning she even corrected yours before realising it was a lost cause.

Martha keeps looking at you with her patented ‘I know all face’ and you often catch your cheeks hurting a little from grinning too much. And you hate it, you feel like a teenager again, in the most ridiculous way. Especially because Heathers is skin-crawling on good days and positively aggravating on bad ones but then she’ll give you a slightly strained smile when you get coffee refills or she’ll look at you directly in the eyes and you just _melt._ But you’re getting better at schooling your expression and hiding the way that you can feel your cheeks heat up.

“So, when’s your date with Chandler?”

“It’s not a date, it’s an opportunity to destroy her at Mario Kart.”

“Right.” She raises an eyebrow at you.

“It’s at 6:30.” You try to steer the conversation _away_ from whether it’s a date or a hangout or whatever it is. Thankfully your phone vibrates so you can both ignore Martha’s gaze and text Heather.

_Sure, Sawyer, like you could beat me._

_Also can you grab a six-pack? Mac doesn’t drink._

**_Sur thing – any type ya like?_ **

_You chose._

_You need something you like to drown out the bitter taste of defeat._

**_Ur so goddamn dramatic_ **

_Would it kill you to type like an adult?_

**_Ofc it wld_ **

**_I wld die a long, painful death_ **

_Grow a pair, buy the beer then get over here._

**_BARS_ **

**_U should b a rapper_ **

[Read 17:48]

“How are you whipped for a girl you’re not even dating yet?”

You roll your eyes.

“See you later Martha.”

“I’m at the restaurant until 3, don’t lock the door when you get back.”

“Will do.” You lean to kiss her on the cheek, which she returns then pushes you out of the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” You her yell at you while leaving the apartment.

The woman at the deli is welcoming, as she always is, when you walk in. You give her one of those awkward white people smiles that, at this point, you really want to try and not do as much; but it’s like a goddamn reflex, you can’t help but do it when someone looks at you. You walk straight to the fridges and grab a six-pack of beer that isn’t too pricey, but isn’t too cheap to taste like complete mouthwash. She’s kind in her smile when you pay and you wait for the bus, smoking and holding the six-pack between your fingers. There’s an old guy judging you while sitting in the bus stop, but you recognise him from when you were a kid so he can’t judge you when he’s been here all your life.

You would fear that you’ll be late because McNamara lives on the other side of town, but even town is too big a word for this place. So instead you fear that you’ll show up too early and come across too eager to hang out and – why the hell did you start allowing yourself to feel things? This is what happens, you become a goddamn mess.

The bus comes and you flick your cigarette away. The old man tuts and you fight the urge to give him a dirty look and instead roll your eyes. It’s not a long journey and you spend your time psyching yourself up to see Heather in an out of work setting again. It’s not like you froze or made a fool of yourself but it still wasn’t the best.

You don’t know what you expected from McNamara’s house, maybe a cute little place on the edge of town with a large garden, lots of yellow, lots of cute little photos and cushions and stuff. Not this goliath house in front of you. It’s massive, too big for the cute little woman that accosts you every morning. You check the address twice, just to make sure that you’re at the right place. There’s a long road to the front door, there’s a yellow trim across most of the house, a bright green door, a well kempt garden – it’s the kinda place that you’d go to a party in Senior year, a bone-headed jock with more friends than sense.

You walk up to the door and knock three times. Heather opens the door casually, leaning against the door in a pair of jeans that are _far_ too tight and a vest that it way too lowcut for the time of the year. You’re stuck between trying not to stare at her long, _long,_ legs and her body but you feel like a pre-pubescent boy and a bad feminist for even thinking about Heather that way. The vest shows her arms in a way that you’ve never seen, they’re not crazy muscular but it’s clear she works out and your mouth goes slightly dry. God Veronica, stop acting like such an idiot.

“You know you’re no fun when you’re texting.” You say, brushing past her while trying to school your breathing.

“Good evening to you too Sawyer.” Her voice is sarcastic but you can hear the humour in her voice. It’s a tone that you’ve become more and more accustomed too, it used to make your skin crawl because you had no idea what her real feelings were toward you. The first time you heard it was when she gave you that lift home before Philly, its that tone that made you confused and annoyed, now you take it as the way she talks to her friends. Her lips are doing the same quirk thing that they were doing back them and it’s far too distracting.

“Here’s your beer.” You place it on a nearby counter, looking around the house. There are pictures everywhere, ones of Mac and her wife – you’re surprised to find that Heather McNamara has married the third Heather in the company; Duke. Jesus, do all the Heather’s in Sherwood know each other? Honestly you wouldn’t put it past them

“Cheers. You know texting is just emailing but shorter.” Heather’s voice interrupts your thinking, you’re head whips around to her as she walks up to you.

“Is there any form of communication you’re not a stickler for the rules for?” She’s really close considering the size of the hall but you want to think too much into that. The beer is hanging from her fingertips in a way that you never thought could be attractive, yet there they are.

“I am talking to you now aren’t I?”

“What does that imply?”

“Whatever you want Sawyer.”

You don’t know how to reply, you end up just standing there. Heather tilts her head and stares at you, a smirk on her face.

“You coming Sawyer?”

“Yeah – shoes?”

“Off, Mac would murder me if there was mud on the carpet.”

“Right.”

You follow Heather through what can only be described as a foyer, into another hallway, into a living room with a TV that was almost as tall as you. You’re awfully aware of how your jaw drops.

“Why do they work in at Dunder Mifflin when they’ve got _this?”_

“Mac may be _rich_ rich but she also really likes work and talking to people.”

“Damn, imagine liking work.”

“I like work.” Heather defends, setting up the Wii while you slump onto the sofa, opening a beer.

“Yeah but you’re an anomaly.”

She rolls her eyes at that, you wonder how many times she did that when you were texting, you guess it’s a lot from how much her texts scold you for not being able to ‘type like an actual person’.

“I just want you to know that I will judge you harshly on who you chose.” She says, finally joining you on the sofa, wii remote in hand.

“Same, they should use what mario kart person you play as as personality tests instead of Myers Briggs and shit.”

“You know what, I think agree with you on something.”

“Sh.”

“What?”

“Don’t say it too loud, the world could end.”

“Asshole.”

She chooses Princess Peach which is honestly too much, you laugh for at least five minutes at that, with her pouting the entire time, only to make an affronted noise when you chose Waluigi. Pointing at the screen as if you laughing at her wasn’t as ridiculous as choosing the man, the myth, the legend, Waluigi. You end up bickering about the level and game-mode because why the hell wouldn’t you? You keep falling behind because you keep getting distracted by Heather’s face and neck and shoulders in that _vest_ and it’s not until you lose and Heather smugly grins while drinking a beer and says:

“Come on Veronica, I thought you said you were good.”

She either doesn’t register the use of your first name or she doesn’t care, the way it sounds in her voice, the way her tongue wraps around the syllables is like music to your ears, it also lights something in your stomach that you haven’t felt in a while. Her lips are smiling in a relaxed way that makes your heart do something it’s not meant to, god she’s so beautiful it’s distracting.

“Oh, it’s on Heather.”

Normally you would be thinking of what time you would be able to duck out, you would be feeling warm on the outside with the cold reminder of loneliness that you got used to but you don’t feel that for once. You’re content in the moment, something you haven’t felt in a while. You’re not thinking too much, you don’t have that feeling at the back of your head reminding you of how much time you’ve wasted at Dunder Mifflin, no, all you’re focused on is beating Heather at a kids game and making her laugh so hard she snorts and throws her head back and it’s almost loud enough to hurt your ears but you don’t care because she’s happy.

Wow, that’s gay.

And gross.

You end up demolishing Heather and every time she loses she pouts even more intensely and starts to get angrier – which reminds you of her a few weeks back – and it’s simultaneously cute and terrifying. She ends up almost throwing the remote across the room but you laughing stopped her.

“You’re mean.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

She makes a noise.

“You’re a shitty loser.”

“I know, I, unfortunately, got that from my father.” Her tone is bitter as she speaks.

She never talks about her family, only talks about DC unless you push it. You figure you shouldn’t go further into it, lest you want to fuck up the friendship you’ve created.

“Hm. I got my dorkiness from mine.”

She barks out a laugh that seems to make her mood slightly better and you feel yourself smiling. She takes the remote from your hands and puts them back in a box under the TV, before turning it off and jumping back into the sofa; sitting crossed legged and holding a can of beer near her face.

“So, Veronica, you’re from Sherwood right?”

So her calling you by your name wasn’t a fluke, she’s really going to keep talking like that.

“Yeah, home sweet home.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes and taking another drink from your beer.

“What did you do for fun?”

“In Sherwood? Got drunk in parks, got drunk in a house, go to 7/11, watch movies, I drove around _a lot._ ”

“I can’t tell if that’s sad or cool.”

Her phone vibrates like it’s a call, she frowns and declines it, you decide to spearhead the conversation back to where it was because that was not a good face.

“Yeah growing up in a small town is not fun. What about Boston?”

“How’d you know- Dennis.” She interrupts herself, nodding and taking a drink. You laugh at her reaction.

“But for real.”

“Well, sneaking into bars was impossible and I was almost mugged a few times. But me and my friends used to drop acid and lie in the middle of the road.”

“What?”

“It was 3am in the suburbs in Boston, trust me, we were fine.”

“Did you ask me that so you could flex on your cool teenage years?”

“Because staying in the closet and dropping acid is cool.”

“It’s better than sneaking out and downing Slurpee’s.”

“I don’t know, that sounds fun.”

“So does taking drugs and lying in the middle of the road.”

“Let’s just admit that we’re romanticising each other’s teen years.”

“Deal.”

\--

McNamara’s cats are cute.

The way Heather interacts with them is freaking adorable.

She talks to them as if they’re real people, telling them to wait their turn when she’s feeding them, calling them Sir or Ma’am in the same tone of voice she uses when selling paper. She gets another phone call, frowns some more before declining it and heading to the kitchen. She orders food from the Indian place a block down from Dunder Mifflin. Your stomach growls embarrassingly loudly when she mentions food.

Heather calls you an asshole for making fun of her for getting nothing spicy and you’re pretty sure that it’s become a term on endearment from her to you and you’re not quite sure how to deal with it. You call her a dick for not letting you get naan bread and she sticks her tongue out at you.

Then you sit in pretty much silence when you eat.

It’s not awkward, it’s not pressing, you don’t feel the need to say something.

You start to notice things, the way you did when you were driving back from Philly.

Firstly how McNamara’s house smells like lemon. Secondly how Heather makes an effort to not look at her phone, how she hides her mouth her hand after eating, how she has a goofy smile where half of her face rides up when you end up drinking almost all of someone’s almond milk because it was spicier than you anticipated. It’s a smile that you rarely see, you want to make her look like that the entire time.

You notice that it’s almost 11pm just after you finished washing up with the other woman. Speaking off, was weirdly domestic. Heather had red gloves that she explained McNamara kept for her whenever she came over, and was quick and efficient while cleaning, leaving you with a pile of dishes to clean that you couldn’t keep up with.

“I have to go, the buses’ll stop running soon.”

“Of course, sorry for keeping you so late.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I’m not. I’m actually happy to kick you out so I can practise and beat you next time.”

“Still cut up about that huh?”

“Don’t quote me to me, it’s uncouth.”

“Uncouth? You speak like my grandma.”

“There’s nothing wrong with speaking correct English.”

“We’re American,” You correct, she doesn’t reply, you get a shit eating grin.

You follow her back to the door, she awkwardly watches you do up your shoes. Then you’re standing but the door.

“Right.” You say, not really wanting to go but having to so you can see Martha tomorrow for the longest time. Heather opens the door and you find yourself leaning against the door frame, her leaning on the door itself.

“Are we friends Veronica?”

She surprises you in two ways, the question was so surprising you need a second to register the words and her tone is softer than you ever heard her speak before.

“I think so.” You reply, she smiles.

“Good.”

“And to think we thought we’d bicker the entire time.”

“I think the Mario Kart took it out of us to be honest.”

“Hm of course, I’m sure you’ll blame your loss on the difficult work week.”

“You really are an asshole you know that.” She smiles, her eyes darting somewhere on your face before meeting yours again.

They’re so goddamn blue.

“You’re the one who can dish it but not take it.”

She pushes you slightly, leaning in closer to do so and her perfume envelopes you again. It’s quickly becoming one of your favourite smells. You end up getting closer to her and she doesn’t stop you, you’re in the same situation before you fell asleep after Dennis’ ‘party’ in Philly. You’re really close, so close that you can see the freckles across her nose in great detail. You know that you don’t have the confidence to close the gap. How is Heather feeling? Is she feeling this?

Does she want you?

You can live with it if she doesn’t, you’d just like to know.

Her hand rests on your shoulder, it burns through your clothes, you can feel the warmth of it everywhere, it’s like a wildfire in your body.

A stream of light causes you two to fall apart, leaning back on McNamara’s doorframe, your head hits it lightly.

They’re home.

You feel like you’ve been caught making out by parents.

“Well, uh, thanks Heather, I’ll see you on Monday.” You say, stepping off the house and onto the porch.

“Hey Ronnie!” McNamara says, getting out the car. Your head is still a bit dizzy from how close Heather was a second ago, you’re not sure you’re ready for her. They’re dressed in fancy clothes, McNamara has somehow found a way to make yellow look classy, which you applaud her for.

“How come you’re here Sawyer?” Duke asks, doing the same as McNamara.

“Someone needed to beat Heather at Mario Kart.”

Duke nods, agreeing with you in the silent way that you’re used to her being.

“We had the best evening Ronnie, Heather took me-“

“How about you tell me on Monday huh, McNamara?” You interrupt her, aware that you will not be able to string many coherent sentences together and that the last bus of the evening will be there soon. Her face never stops smiling, even though you interrupted her, and she just nods.

“See you guys on Monday.” You say, waving at them all. You look at Heather in the doorway, looking slightly flustered and waving at you.

You start walking briskly toward the bus stop.

Heather was leaning in right? She was getting very close, maybe it isn’t one sided.

Nope, once you start thinking like that bad things happen. Like when you thought that Clara Nubbs like you back in freshman year of college so you bought her a drink but she went ‘oh you’re such a good _friend_ Veronica, isn’t she a good _friend_ guys?’ it turns out she was just touchy feely and you’re very bad at figuring out when people like you.

At least it isn’t that cold, so you can spend time agonizing over every single way she interacted with you tonight instead of worrying about how you’ll stay warm. You make it to the bus stop with about five minutes to spare for the bus, Heather’s perfume still in your nose and the thoughts of her ringing through your head.

You sigh and lean against the bus stop.

Fuck.

You’re in deeper than you thought.


	12. Chapter 12

“So, d’ya hear what’s going on, Sawyer?”

Betty leans against your desk, offering you a mug of coffee, which you greatly appreciate. You got a call that shouted at you for five minutes for selling them the ‘wrong paper’, there was a problem with the suppliers, they didn’t listen, it got messy.

“Nah, what’s happening?”

“We’ve beaten our sales from last season.” She takes a sip of coffee, smiling knowing that the news will set you off. As an incentive, because Fleming loves Capitalism, she offers free drinks if you beat the sales from last year, it’s only one round of drinks for everyone and with a single digit limit but you don’t care, it’s actually a good time, the only interesting thing to happen at work – before Heather arrived anyways. Of course the best part is watching Fleming get progressively tipsier throughout the evening. And watching Kurt and Ram get shot down by almost every girl in the bar is also fun.

“That means we’re going to O’Connell’s?”

“Yup, tonight.”

“Tonight?”

It’s a Monday, you’re definitely _not_ going to drink too much tonight then, holy shit. The year before last, you and Betty had a drinking competition which caused you to wake up poor Martha with how you reacted into the toilet, that woman is an absolute Saint.

“Yeah I figured you didn’t check your email.”

Betty grins at you, knowing you a bit too well. Smug little shit.

“Okay, that’s valid. Don’t need to be so smug though.”

She shrugs dramatically.

“I’m just upset that we didn’t get to go last season because you were proper ill.”

Ah yes, pneumonia was a fun way to spend last year. That and being turned down by every newspaper in Ohio, and a few in Pennsylvania, it wasn’t a good year. At least this one is turning out better. You’re not religious but you’re praying that the Press will give you the time of day this year.

“You mean you didn’t get to watch Fleming get wine drunk.”

“Exactly.”

“Veronica, could you guys take this someplace else or quieten down. Please.” Heather leans around the edge of the cubicle, phone against her shoulder. Her voice is the demanding it always I at work but there’s an edge of pleading in it too, she must have the same problem with the suppliers.

“On that note, I’ll see you at O’Connell’s,” Betty claps your shoulder and heads back to her desk, giving a high five to JD before she does so. You make eye contact, he points at you, then himself, then mimes drinking and shrugs. You give him a thumbs up, he smiles and turns back to his desk.

That’s something to brighten your day.

Heather looked stressed when she told you to shut up, she is _never_ stressed, she lives for putting people in their place at work. You get out your phone and text her.

**_Coffee?_ **

You get back to your computer, sending emails to the suppliers the find out what the hell happened, finding what stock you have an abundance of so you can sell a lot of it, god this is going to be long day with how the suppliers fucked up. Your phone vibrates.

_You shouldn’t be on your phone at work._

_But yes please._

_And can you add a sugar it?_

Damn, she must be having a real shitty day, she normally _hates_ having sugar in her coffee.

**_Ur wish is my command_ **

_Dork._

**_U kno it_ **

You down a bit more of the coffee Betty gave you so it doesn’t just look like you’re getting coffee for Heather, even though you are just getting coffee for her because she looked a bit down. It burns your throat slightly, Betty must’ve put a new pot on, but it’s worth it.

You get up and go to the breakroom, it’s thankfully empty and fill Heather’s usual mug, coffee, milk, sugar, stir, then head back to the desks. She still on the phone, her normally stiff back with a small bend in it, her face one of resigned anger as she listens to whoever is on the other side of the line.

“Sir, we cannot fully refund you if three quarters of the reams were what you ordered- Sir, the manager is not available right now.” You hold back a snort, Fleming is just taking her lunchtime nap, she won’t take any calls for the next hour and she won’t hold slander against her newest and favourite recruit, thank god for Heather’s silver tongue when it comes to Pauline Fleming. Heather’s voice is one of thinly veiled anger and irritation with a tired edge that you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have noticed, or even cared for, a few months back.

You tap her on the shoulder and give her the mug, she looks at you with thankful eyes and takes a sip from it, sighing contentedly. She puts the mug down, you give her a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder and her hand comes up to rest on your for a second. It causes a flush to run through your body, you’re reminded of her hand on your shoulder last week, the way she leaned in, the way her perfume was so close, you can almost smell it now, and not just because you’re standing close to her. Actually you’ve been holding her shoulder for a while now – is this creepy? – she hasn’t moved away yet, and she seems to be comforted by the touch, or are you imagining that. No, she has definitely leaned toward you a bit. She abruptly sits straight again when, you’re guessing, someone says something to her on the phone, your hand jerks back.

You breathe in a little harshly then head back to your desk.

True to fashion, the phone rings as soon as you sit back down, you take a gulp of your new cup of coffee, burning your tongue, then pick it up.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Salesperson Veronica Sawyer, how may I help you?”

\--

The day ends ten minutes early with Fleming having a meeting in the conference room. It’s stuffy and a bit too warm but you’re in between Heather and Betty and JD is behind you and you feel happier at work than you have for a long time with them just around you. Fleming does a little, it’s long and uses words that make it seem like it was shoved through a thesaurus, speech at the front, thanking you for doing your job so well – everyone knows that the main reason she’s excited about beating last years sales is that she gets a pay raise.

“As everyone knows, this is the time that we test our sales from last fiscal year to this one.”

Everyone waits on their seats in anticipation.

“And we surpassed it by 14% percent, we’re going to O’Connells! Since we did such a good job the price range has increased from $10 to $15.” Fleming finishes, you could kiss her. Actually you really, _really_ couldn’t, you feel sick from even thinking about it. Oh you’re excited to see what everyone choses, people drinks show a lot about them it’s great.

“Connies! Connies!” Kurt and Ram start chanting, a few guys from customer service joining in, jumping as they leave the conference room.

“Alright, I need to shut my computer down see you guys downstairs in a bit?” You say to JD and Betty, they’re practically bouncing with excitement then they fast walk out the office. Heather follows you to your desks, the day really has gotten to her, or it’s something more, maybe those phone calls that she kept declining the other night.

“You okay Heather?”

It still feels slightly weird to call her by her first name, but at the same time it feels so perfect to say it that you’re getting used to it. She looks at you, biting her lip for a second before answering.

“I’m good, don’t worry.” You don’t really believe her but you don’t want to push and lose the relationship that you have. You shut down your computer then turn back to her, she has a red scarf on, her addiction to the colour is slightly worrying, but she looks cute in it.

“You ready for the one night of the year that we have fun here at Dunder Mifflin?”

“Sure, but I won’t be drinking, you know, driving and stuff.”

“You make a good point, I won’t drink too much too.”

You both head out the office and into the elevator.

“Why?”

“Oh, I fully intend to use you for your car.”

“Ah, is that why we’re friends?”

“Obviously, that car is too beautiful to not have me in it.”

“Asshole.”

“You love it.”

She rolls her eyes and heads over to the other Heathers, McNamara giving you a wave as she does, you give a casual wave back and they start heading to the bar. You walk over to the others and start walking the block and a half over the O’Connell’s. As you get closer to the bar you can feel the elements of the bad day fall off you, hanging out with Heather so much recently has bolstered your mood in an almost embarrassing way. You hope that you’ve done the same for her, you hope that you make her smile, make her feel good.

“You and Chandler are getting close.” JD shoulder bumps you as you get into the bar, he does it while you’re shrugging off your blazer and your balance gets knocked.

“Jerk,” you mutter, her grins “We’re friends.” You say, not wanting to admit how much you want to be more.

“No, you and me are friends.”

“Not for much longer if you keep accosting me with this.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Seriously? We haven’t even drunk anything yet, we’re not even sitting down.”

“I didn’t want to beat around the bush.”

You roll your eyes and ignore him. Moving toward the bar and sitting on the leather stools that they have. Betty sits with some of the other accountants, you know that she’ll come over after a beer or two, it’s a system you’ve had for the other ones of these you’ve had.

O’Connell’s is a piece of Sherwood history, it’s where everyone goes for their first drinks when their twenty-one, and their unofficial ones when they’re much younger. It always smells like cigarettes from twenty years ago and beer, the floor is always slightly sticky and there’s always at least one drunk old guy. What you’re trying to say is that it’s a dingy, dark, slightly smell bar and you absolutely love it.

You order a jack and coke, normally you’d order a beer or something but since Fleming’s limit increased you’re drink has too. You clink your glass with JD’s gin and tonic before the first sip. It slides down your throat easily, it’s been a while since you’ve been to O’Connell’s – for how much you love it, you don’t come to often. You like to savour it, treat yourself for once. You close your eyes and take in the atmosphere for a second.

“Do they know it’s a school night?” JD’s voice brings you out of the moment. Thankfully he’s dropped the whole Heather thing, you _really_ don’t want to get into your feeling right now. You turn to him and he juts his chin toward Kurt and Ram. You look to see them downing a couple of jaeger bombs, god that reminds you of college. You remember a couple of bad mornings from one too many of those.

“How insufferable do you think they’ll be tomorrow?” You ask him, he winces at them.

“I don’t want to think about it. Hopefully they won’t come in at all.”

“Honestly when do we _want_ them to come in?”

He makes a face and clinks his glass to yours.

“You make an excellent point V.”

You take another drink, looking around at everyone. The brozos are further down the bar to you, Betty and the accountants are at a table while the Heathers have taken a booth. They look happy, their friendship seems to be a good one, you’re glad that Heather has good friends, maybe they can make her feel better from whatever funk she’s got going on.

Betty joins you half an hour in, already slightly tipsy from whatever she got from Fleming.

“Drink up, you guys are too sober.”

“I don’t want a hangover, I’ve gotta sort out more issues because of the suppliers-“

JD interrupts you with snoring and Betty laughs.

“No work talk.”

“But we work to-“

“Nope. None of it.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“Why don’t you go for it?” Doesn’t this constitute some kind of work talk? Betty looks confused for a second before nodding and realising what the hell he’s on about.

“JD-“

“No really, she looks at you all gross and shit and you look at her the same. You’re both gooey for each other.” His arms start moving awkwardly as he talks, it’s a wonder that he doesn’t spill anything, his drink must be hitting him. You wish you were as susceptible to it as him.

“Dude, I have four friends; you, you, Martha and Heather. If I lose her, I not only lose a quarter of my friends, but work will be awkward who knows what McNamara would be like.”

“She does make a good point JD, maybe she’s happy with just being friends with her.”

“What? Betty you’re being ridiculous, you should _go for it._ ”

“Guys could we talk about something else?”

“Well we banned work and you banned your love life so we’ve got football, weather and narrating Kurt and Ram getting turned down by girls like we’re David Attenborough.”

Betty’s eyes light up and JD’s suggestion and you’re sure that yours does the same.

\--

It’s two hours, and two more drinks, before Heather tells you that it’s time to head out. You’ve got a nice buzz from the evening, JD and Betty almost being completely drunk by the time you leave, they’re going to regret that tomorrow.

They give you a cheery wave off, JD elbowing you in the ribs, you stumble a bit and Heather catches you, he’s such a little shit honestly. Her hands are soft against your bare arms and you can’t hear what she’s saying but you nod and head toward the front.

“So, have fun at your first O’Connell’s?” You ask as you leave, heading toward work, Heather walks fast and you almost struggle to keep up. It’s night now and you always forget how much you secretly love the night in Sherwood.

“Eh, it was nice to talk to Mac and Duke.” Her tone is resigned, it’s like she’s on the verge of a sigh but doesn’t.

“You good? Today was a pain.”

“I’m alright, don’t stress.”

You get to her car, you look up and the stars. It reminds of your dad, he always loved seeing them. He used those glow in the dark stars to create different constellations on ceiling of you room, then her would tell you the stories behind each and every one. When you couldn’t sleep you would shine a flashlight on the ceiling and recite the stories to yourself.

“Hey, look, that’s Orion.” You point to the sky, she squints for a second before shaking her head. You pull her closer, everywhere where her body touches yours feels like it’s on fire, her perfume is everywhere. You point so it’s easier for her to see.

“Oh.” You watch her face as she stares at the sky, it relaxes completely. Her lips quirk up for a second, then she sighs slightly wistfully. “You’re right. There he is.” Her voice is soft, soft in a way that you always want to hear. She steps away from you, your body misses the warmth, and she unlocks the car.

“I hope the Press gets back to me soon.”

“They better, you’d be one hell of a journalist.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You mean me calling you an ‘asshole’ isn’t sweet?”

You roll your eyes. The alcohol is leaving you on the good end of tipsy, before you get into the drunk territory; something which you fear to do in front of Heather because you most definitely _will_ tell her your entire life story, including how you feel.

“I’m glad that I’m getting to know JD a bit better, I can see us going far.”

“Uh huh.”

“No really, he’s not that creepy, especially now. Like you can’t deny he’s done a pretty good job at quitting smoking. Plus he’s always telling me to do stuff.”

You’re tempted to tell Heather about how you feel right now, in her weirdly obnoxious car. There’s studies about that right? Where you want to tell people secrets in the car because you’re not facing each other or some shit?

“If JD’s such a good friend, why don’t you talk to _him_ about your job prospects?” She snaps, slightly bitterly, her tone borders on jealous but you’re not sure why she would be jealous of him. Where you talking too much about him? Or is this a straw breaking the camel’s back situation? You’re not sure how to answer so you just nod and stay quiet.

Heather is tense, every aspect of her body looks like it’s about to break from tension. Her jaw is clenched, her back is even more ram-rod straight then usual. She looks like she could snap at any second, she’s like an elastic band pulled to hard.

Maybe that second jack and coke was a mistake, your head is moving a bit differently than what you’re used to. You just want to hug her, ask her if she’s okay.

“Are you really alright Heather?” You ask as you come up to a stoplight.

“God Veronica, will you quit pulling on my dick? I’m good, I’m fine, leave it alone.” Heather’s voice is cold and hard in a way that you haven’t heard in a while, her knuckles are slightly white against the wheel, the only sounds in the car is the sound of your breathing and any traffic outside.

“I’m just asking if you’re okay, Jesus.”

“Can I just drop you home?”

You didn’t expect that to escalate so quickly. You’re silent for a second, hurt coursing through your body. The atmosphere changed so quickly, it was so good to knife-cutting-tense like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Sure Heather, whatever you want.” You lean back in the seat and look out the window, crossing your arms. Heather makes no move to talk, she’s stubborn as anything.

The light goes green.

The silence after that is the only time that you’ve found yourself feeling awkward. You have a desire to say something but you know that it won’t end well. She pulls up to you place after five minutes that felt like two years of your life went by. You open the door but look back at Heather, who is purposely looking everywhere but you.

“Text me when you get back.”

“Veronica-“

“Listen, we’re still friends, even if we’re pissed at each other, I care about you. Text me when you’re home.”

She swallows.

“Okay.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, night.”

You get out and slam the door a bit louder than you mean too, she drives you up the wall sometimes. You pretend not to linger for a second before hearing her drive off. You try to get in as quietly as possible, Martha’s probably been up since forever and you don’t want to disturb her. You lock the door, looking like a mime, with exaggerated movement and being terrified of making any noise. You get out of your clothes and brush your teeth, your mind mulling over Heather’s behaviour in the car. Even though she was a dick you can’t help but hope that she’s okay, it was clearly a defence mechanism, an annoying one, but one nonetheless. And what was that business with JD?

You hear your phone vibrate as you get into bed.

_Home._

So profound. You roll your eyes.

You practically shove your head into your pillow, she’s so irritating. Why do you want to date her again?

Oh yeah because she makes you feel things.

Hopefully it’ll be better in the morning.


	13. Chapter 13

Things are not better in the morning.

Heather’s ignoring you, it stings a little, the way you make eye contact and she immediately turns back to her desk, but you can’t exactly say you’re doing any better from the way you swerved to avoid the breakroom when you saw her chatting to McNamara first thing this morning.

There’s just a _distance_ that you can’t quite describe with her today. Neither one of you is willing to break, because you’re hurt, and she’s stubborn. It’s a bad mix, that’s fun when you’re joking around or prying information about her past out of her, but it doesn’t work when you’re actually fighting.

Thankfully, well not really thankfully because so far today has been a complete nightmare, there’s still the issue of the supplier fucking up everyone’s orders so you’ve had to be on the phone, for almost hours at a time to convince them to stay at Dunder Mifflin. This means that you can focus on how much you despise your job and how bloody _boring_ it is, even when you’re having to talk to people who are almost screaming down the phone to you, instead of thinking about Heather and _feelings_ and how the Press hasn’t been in contact with you since you gave in your application; no acceptance, but also no rejection, does this mean that they even got your email?

Goddamn it, focus on Roger on the other side of the line to you.

Shit, how long has he been talking to you?

You start tapping your pen against the desk to get some kind of familiarity while he talks to you, well it’s more like talk _at_ you, with the way that you’re going so far. You keep trying to haggle with him about the discounts he can get on the shipping, on whether you can cut the delivery costs. The tapping must be obnoxious and loud but it’s the only thing you can do to focus yourself in the moment. God, Heather fucking with your head is not what you need right now.

“Yes Roger, we can give you free delivery but that means that there’s no discount on the actual sale of paper.”

Heather’s head pops up from the cubicle, her nails grabbing onto the walls stupidly hard.

“Stop tapping _Sawyer_ , I can’t hear myself think.”

You throw your pen somewhere on your desk as you glare at her. The use of your surname feels like a slap.

“Thank you for co-operating Roger and again, we apologise for all the inconvenience we at Dunder Mifflin have caused.”

You slam the phone down and stand until you’re face to face with her. There are so many things on the tip of your tongue but you don’t know which to choose to you ignore them all and head to the breakroom. It’s here that you realise that nicotine is what you need, not coffee, you check your watch, your next call is in an hour and a half, you can go for a smoke break.

Almost all the anger you have toward Heather dissipates with every step you take toward the front on the building. It’s warmer than you thought it would be, and yet you don’t mind how slightly uncomfortable to feel. It's so stupid this whole thing but it still hurts and you wish that she would just talk to you. You know that her snapping at you wasn't entirely you asking for the fifieth time that day if she was alright - although you have a sneaking suspicion that it might've helped. You just wish that her first idea wasn't to snap at you for it.

You sigh and grab your packet, getting a cigarette and lighting it, the sigh after the first exhale alleviates all of the stress you’re feeling – it really doesn’t but you’re pretty sure that if you repeat it enough times that it’ll happen.

You hear a small clearing of a throat behind you.

You turn around to see Heather there, two mugs of coffee in her hands, a small, hopeful smile of her face, you nod your head toward her and she approaches, handing you your blue Penn State mug. She copies you in sitting on the bench that you used to avoid because it gets far too cold to sit on in the winter.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry, about last night, about being a dick today, there’s a lot going on and I-“ she takes a sip of her coffee, she seems to do it to calm herself down, or give herself a second before she carries on talking, “I just didn’t know what to do so I kinda exploded and you were the nearest person I could explode onto. So, sorry.”

You let the words sink in, while you take a drink of the coffee. It’s halfway decent, you reckon her or McNamara made it. You stare at the coffee in your mug for a second, feeling her eyes bore into the side of your face, waiting for you to say something. Nothing you want to say feels right.

“It was hardly an explosion, it was more getting stabbed by a million tiny needles.”

She bites her lip and faces away, that really was not the right thing to say. Bad choice Sawyer, bad choice. You let words just fall out of your mouth.

“Hey, look, if you’re going through the shitter, just say you don’t feel yourself. I’ll back off if you want, I’ll stay silent while you rant or give my opinion if you want it just, don’t lock it up then push away those who care.”

“Like you?” Her voice is quiet and soft and vulnerable and you’re fighting every instinct in you to pull her into a hug; but you’re not sure you would be able to let go.

How the fuck did you get here? It seems like yesterday that you were arguing over stupid shit and now you’re here, now you want to make sure she’s okay, now you’re not entirely sure how you would feel without her.

“Yeah, dumbass, like me.”

She smiles for a second at that, it warms you in a way that’s infinitely better than coffee or cigarettes, it feels like you could run all the electricity in Sherwood with how you’re feeling.

“You always manage to get me to open up.”

She says after a while, for once her tone is unreadable.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to, if you don’t want to-“

“Veronica. It’s okay, it feels right to tell you somehow, I feel like you won’t judge.”

“Oh, I definitely will but you normally end up being the more favourable in the judging.”

She laughs slightly, you give yourself a mental fist-bump at that.

“Well now I feel like I shouldn’t tell you things, asshole,” she teases bumping your shoulder, you almost spill the coffee.

“Hey watch it, and you definitely should, how else will I figure out the complex Heather Chandler.” You’re say the entire the melodramatically, hoping that Heather will laugh again or smile again or something better than the funk that she’s been in. She does, she let’s out a little giggle that’s adorable until it looks like she remembers something and schools her face into something serious.

“But, uh, seriously, thanks for not being weird when I tell you stuff.”

“It’s no problem. Are you okay? And please don’t blow up on me this time.”

“I thought you said it was like a million tiny needles.”

“You’re ignoring the question.”

“My father keeps calling, we have a, um, tumultuous relationship, to say the least.”

It’s silent for a second, you don’t feel like Heather’s waiting for you to say something but at the same time not saying something seems like the wrong thing to do. You take another drink as a stalling tactic before speaking.

“Shitty parents suck.”

And she said you’re not weird when she tells you shit, that was quite possibly one of the worst things you could have said.

“That’s one way to put it.” She says with a bitter smile. Okay, maybe not the worst thing you could’ve said, maybe not the best but it’s not complete utter shit.

“Yeah,”

“I want to tell you more but, uh, the words get stuck in my throat.” She starts to explain but you interrupt her, you don’t want her to start divulging anything that she’s not ready to, to make sure that your friendship is alright; that’s the last thing you want to do.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Heather.”

She faces you, a small smile on her face. Her eyes dart all over your face, but there’s one area they spend a bit longer on that you want to interpret but you don’t want to get wrong, her eyes snap to yours when she notices she’s been staring at your lips.

“Thanks Veronica.” She sighs, takes a drink and stands up. “Wanna go save the company?” She asks, looking down at you.

It’s in that moment that you’re completely sure that everything will be alright.

You drain the rest of your coffee and throw your butt onto the ground.

“Let’s go.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, real clown behaviour I know - just got a heavy case of the ~anxieties~ and stuff like that
> 
> nevertheless - here you go, hope you enjoy :)

Ah, Wednesdays, your old friend. You hate them, you love them, it depends on the week.

This week you’re not quite sure about what to think. Dan’s switched his jumper out for his short sleeve shirt, a true sign that things are changing. The weather getting better is always a nice signal for your mood to get better but considering everything else that’s gone on this week you’re a bit more subdued that you’d normally be.

The supplier mix-up was cleaned up after some overtime yesterday, it drained everything out of you, you didn’t even have the energy to check your email a million times before you went to bed for an email about the Press and if they gotten back to you. So you’re an extra barrel of nerves while you walk into the office, there’s no yellow in the office, but instead Heather standing there, appearing to be zoned out while staring at the coffee machine.

“Hey.”

She jumps and turns, her face softens when she notices it’s you. There’s a new softness to the way you interact that makes you melt slightly every time you see each other. Last night, after overtime, she gave you a ride home and you stayed silent the entire way to yours until you were leaving as she smiled and you and said: ‘I’m glad we’re friends Veronica’, it felt like you were receiving a hug then got smacked across the face. You love the friendship, but how you wish you make it something more.

“Hey,” she echoes back at you, a small smile on her face. “I forgot how early you come it on Wednesdays.”

“Yeah, I thought you came in later?”

“Woke up early, didn’t know what else to do.” She shrugs, you notice that there are some bags under her eyes but you don’t say or stare because you know that she’d get uncomfortable.

“Oh yeah, you’re a workaholic.” You joke, she rolls her eyes, looking slightly more alive.

“That has such unhealthy connotations, I prefer ‘attached to the job’.”

“That’s somehow even worse.” You say and she lets out a laugh. “Let’s make some coffee, I gotta work on some articles.”

You can’t stop staring at the way her hands look when they’re doing things, especially when it’s fiddly things such as making coffee. There’s something hypnotic in the way her hands move so confidently. You can’t believe you’re lusting after Heather’s hands, dear lord, you can’t be in that deep, surely?

You are, you really, _really,_ are.

“Have you heard from the Press?” She asks, finishing up and waiting for the coffee to start coming through the filter. She moves and grabs your mugs, her plain red and your Penn State one. How is everything she’s doing making you feel things you can’t quite explain?

“Uh, no, not yet.”

“They’ll reply soon, I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks. How’s the whole, calling thing going?” She stills at that, taking a second to reply, her tone slightly more distant, but at least she’s not pissed.

“I blocked him.”

“Nice. If you need to talk I’m a phone call away.”

“Thanks Veronica.” Her voice is soft in a way you would never expect from work. You make eye contact and it’s like when you were leaving McNamara’s house. There’s this pull toward her and there’s nothing else but you and her, no coffee, no paper selling, no Flemming. The moment gets interrupted by the coffee machine spluttering. There’s enough for you to full your mug, so you do that then grab some milk, giving Heather one last luck before almost scurrying out of the breakroom.

God, imagine your first kiss being at work.

Imagine your first kiss at all.

Nope, do not do that you will not be able to focus on work.

You wait the five minutes for your computer to properly boot up to try to inhale as much as your coffee as you can, thinking about what you’ll make for dinner because Martha won’t want to cook after doing it all day. You open your email and see something from the Westerberg Press.

What if it’s bad? What if you get rejected from them _again_?

You suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you’ve been rejected before, you know what it’s like. You know how to numb how you feel until you get home. There’s this sickening feeling in your gut, a mix of anxiety, fear and hope.

You start sweating.

_Dear Ms Sawyer,_

_We would like you to come in for an interview for the position of-_

Your feel a smile crawling its way onto your face, you’re pretty sure that you’ve never smiled this hard in your life. You cheeks hurt and there’s a joy in you that you can’t describe, this is what you’ve waited for and wanted for so long, you’re not quite sure what to do.

“Why does your face look like that?”

“I can enjoy life finally.”

“You dramatic shit. Did you get another good story?”

You heart sings at the fact that she remembered.

“I got an interview, with the Press.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

“Holy shit, congrats Veronica.”

Her face is open and relaxed and her smile is so genuine you could cry.

Everything’s coming up Milhouse for Veronica Sawyer.

You can’t stop moving, your legs are bouncing enough to rival McNamara, you can’t stop tapping on the desk, Heather watches you. You make eye contact and you start to diminish your actions. It feels like a secret that just the two of you know, that you’re leaving, that you’re doing what you want.

“You should probably reply to them.” She says. You nod, Flemming comes in and grunts a ‘morning’ at the both of you before heading into her office.

Right, new job later, shitty job now.

“And well done, you deserve it.” Heather whispers in your ear, squeezing your shoulder before heading to her desk, her perfume lingers and you breathe it in, it calms you down but doesn’t quell your excitement.

You bite your lip to hide your smile as you reply to your future.

\--

You buy a shitty bottle of whiskey and off-brand coke from the deli on your way home, the woman offers you a smile and you smile properly this time, a full teeth smile instead of the weird white people one. She looks slightly surprised but her smile widens nonetheless. You get home five minutes earlier than usual, even with the trip to the deli, you can’t explain how excited you are, how fast you want to move, to get home and tell Martha. You run up the stairs two at a time, almost dropping the bottle of coke twice, and throw the door open.

“Martha guess what!”

She’s surprised at your outburst, sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and sweats on after a long day in a boiling hot kitchen.

“I’ve got an interview down at the press!”

“What! Oh my god! Well done! Oh my god!”

She jumps up and practically runs into your arms, it’s a strong hug, one that you can’t help but sigh into. She pulls away, dragging you toward the sofa, placing everything on the table and holding your hands.

“So what does this mean?”

“This means that I can get out of Dunder Mifflin, finally. If I get the job, that is.”

“You will, you’re the queen of interviews, you got me my job.”

“Yeah but you’re charismatic, what if I fuck up?”

“You won’t, I promise. Now, no overthinking, let’s celebrate.” Martha gets up, walking to the kitchen.

“But-“ You yell after her.

“Veronica, how long have you wanted out of Dunder?” She interrupts you, her face popping out of the kitchen, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, knowing that she’s right.

“Three years.” You admit, Martha head back into the kitchen and returns with glasses and ice.

“And how much happier will you be at this new job?”

“ _So_ much.”

“So let’s drink.”

She pours you a drink, a _strong_ one, and almost thrusts it into your hands. Okay, so you’re going to have a good time, no self-doubt, not after you’ve spent so long waiting for this. God, it’s so close you can taste it, you’re ready for this, you’re aching for this, you’re going to crush this. You suppose you should be humble but fuck that, you spent the beginning half of your twenties being humble, it’s why you dated too many d-bags who listen to The Smiths and gaslight you, now you’re going to go to this interview and get that goddamn job.

“Who are we toasting to?” Martha asks. You think for a second, there’s part of you that wants to say yourself, you’ve earned it, taken time and energy and effort for this future, part of you that wants to say the Westerberg press, they’re the ones who offered you an interview after all. You want to be sarcastic and say Flemming, be heartfelt and thank Martha but then there’s one person who you wish could be here and hug.

Dad.

The thought brings your mood down for a second, you chew on your lip at the thought of him. Dear Dad, taken away from you just when you needed him the most. You miss him so much it aches sometimes, but then you forget him now and again, then you remember; then you remember that you forgot him and the guilt hurts more than anything else you could imagine.

Then you remember that he’d want you to smile, want you to remember him happily. He would hug you and whisper how proud he is of you in your ear, then he’d ruffle your hair and you’d protest but love it then he’d make you watch some 80s action movie that sucked so much that it was great.

Yeah, the toast should go to him, it only feels right.

“To Dad.” You say.

“To Victor.” She replies.

You take a drink, coughing slightly at how strong it is, but enjoying it nonetheless. Martha drinks her much weaker one and leans back on the sofa, still with a massive grin on her face. You love her, so much, she’s your favourite person. You don’t even speak, just sit in silence next to each other, smiling at each other, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Hey Martha?”

“Uh, huh?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She grabs the remote and the previously abandoned bowl on popcorn and puts it in between the two of you on the sofa, you sigh happily into the back of the sofa and watch the rest of the shitty dance competition that Martha loves. You drink a little bit more and feel as you become more relaxed and buzzed as an overprotective Mom shouts at another Mom on the TV and you laugh at how ridiculous they all are. Your phone vibrates.

_U busy Friday?_

**_Who r u and what have u done with Heather Chandler?_ **

_It’s me jackass_

**_Ah, that’s better_ **

_See I was gonna invite you over for drinks because of your interview but now…_

**_Fiiiiiiiiine_ **

**_U retract my sass_ **

**_But only bc ur sofa is hella comfy_ **

_Everything about that made my head hurt_

**_Ur the one who made me retract my sass_ **

_Have you been drinking?_

**_Only a lil_ **

_Are you free for drinks on Friday?_

**_I am_ **

**_R we going straight from work or should I come over?_ **

_Straight from work, more time to prepare you for your interview_

**_Pls tell me ur joking_ **

_…_

**_Heather!_ **

_Veronica!_

**_I stg_ **

_Relax_

_I’m kidding_

_See you tomorrow_

_(And well done for the job)_

You smile at your phone, in a way that makes your teeth hurt, Martha gags next to you.

“You two are gross.”

“Maybe I was texting JD.”

“1) JD would _never_ make you smile like that and 2) we both know that man never texts back that quick and 3) you don’t have his number.”

“Okay, damn, I forget how you’re always right.”

“It’s my super power.”

You nudge her, almost making her spill her drink, she gives you a meagre glare in return, it makes you laugh. There’s nothing that could make her sad tonight, not one memory.

You think of your father watching over you.

Of Martha right next to you.

Of Heather across town, doing whatever she does when she’s not at work, which is probably just working but slightly differently.

Of your future.

You take another drink.

Nothings gonna stop you now, _nothing._


	15. Chapter 15

You’ve been infuriating all week, but hey, at least you’re aware of it.

You’ve listened and had proper conversations with McNamara whenever she starts talking to you in the morning. At first she was surprised but quickly smiled and talked in that bubbly way that you is kind of annoying but you can’t help but love at the same time. JD has taken to crinkling his nose whenever you look at him with a casual smile, as opposed to one from many of the jokes the two of you make in the breakroom.

Heather takes it all in her stride, she rolls her eyes when you act a little bit too much like McNamara, but it’s fond and kind and when you refill her coffee she always says thank you in the exact same way and you can’t help but find it cute.

You even made coffee this morning, when Betty found out she hit you with a newspaper, whisper-yelling about how you should’ve been making the shitty coffee here forever and you just roll your eyes and bat off her attacks, trying to dial in the number for your ten o’clock. She leaves with a stuck out tongue and the threat of her rolled up newspaper.

So, yeah, you’ve been infuriating for the rest of the week, but you think you’ve deserve it.

“You know how insufferable you are when you’re in a good mood?” Heather says as you leave the building.

“I don’t know how annoying am I?”

“ _So_. You know you hum when you’re happy, you’re like some Snow White wannabe.”

“Hey, I take great offence to that, make me Aurora at least.”

“You wanna be Sleeping Beauty?” She asks incredulously, being dramatic about your choice in princess, in your defence, it was the one that you Dad liked the most so you watched it on a loop as a kid. He would always do impressions of the three fairies looking after Aurora, he really loved that movie, plus the soundtrack was a million times better than Snow White’s.

“Don’t read too into it, asshole.”

You playfully punch her in the arm, she winces melodramatically and gives you a mock glare.

“Hey! That’s my condescending nickname.”

She unlocks her car and you follow her inside, you’re hit with a wall of her perfume and soft white leather seats.

“And I just stole it.”

“Asshole.”

“Dickhead.”

“I can go all day.”

“So can I, you’re not special.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and turns her keys, letting the car roar to life. You lie back into the seat while Heather backs out of the parking space and leaves the Dunder Mifflin parking lot. One time you tried to convince her to let you drive her precious car but she quickly deemed you unworthy and subtly kicked you into the passenger seat with a quirk of her brow and a few words from her sharp tongue that you would have fought back at a few weeks ago but now it just makes you smile. Heather drives carefully, ever so carefully, she’s so vigilant in how she looks before turning, she never not signals, it’s honestly insane how much she signals, even on an empty road.

They get to Heather’s quickly, the last time you were here the trees outside had barely bloomed but now they’re almost full to the brim of leaves. If you were still in College you would make some metaphor about how the trees match your relationship with Heather or some shit but now you feel that’s a bit pretentious to fit into the front of your mind.

Heather walks quickly to her apartment and takes the stairs two at a time, her apartment is slightly tidier than it was last time – not that it was tidy – but the small pockets of chaos that were tucked into corners and stuffed on shelves have almost vanished and the kitchen doesn’t have a small pile of drying mugs by the side of the sink due to her need to wash up immediately after you eat. She directs you to her sofa, after she makes you take off your shoes, you make yourself comfortable on the seats, it’s no where near as comfortable or expensive as Heather’s car, but that fits with her contradictions of money that she has.

She comes back from the kitchen with some beers, the same brand that you brought to McNamara’s, you can’t believe that she remembered that. She hands you one while you sit down.

“You excited for the interview?” She asks, tucking her legs under herself and sitting on them

“So excited, holy shit, this all I’ve wanted for years, and now it’s here. I can’t believe it.”

“Do you need any help with interview prep?”

“This better not be what this is or so help me god-“

“You’ll what?”

“I-uh, please don’t make me prep yet, it’s in two weeks, I simply want to celebrate.”

“And celebrate we will.”

She smiles cheekily at you while having a drink, you don’t know what it is about the action but it fills you with some kind of feeling that you haven’t felt in a while.

_Want._

Uh oh, you take a drink of your beer and move further into the back of the sofa. You want to carry on talking to her, finding out things about her, anything you can get your hands on. You like her so much but there’s still so much mystery. You don’t want to make her uncomfortable by prying too much but that journalist grit inside you is fighting to interrogate her.

“Do you have any siblings?” You finally ask, Heather looks surprised by the question but answers nonetheless.

“No, uh, in case you can’t tell I am an only child. You?”

“I guess Martha is the closest thing to a sibling I have, I practically lived with her when I was a teenager.”

“Why?” Her face is tilted as her eyes bore into yours, her lips are slightly parted and your eyes flick back and forth between them and her eyes before you move your eyes down to your beer.

You play with the label on your beer, trying to come up with an answer that isn’t too depressing, how do you make ‘I basically lived at Martha’s house because my Dad got aggressive stage three cancer and Mom was too much of a wreck to deal with a precocious teenage daughter who was angry at the world for maybe killing her dear Dad’ not sound like it really sucked?

“You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want.” She quickly says realizing that it was kind of a loaded question.

“Nah, it’s okay, just trying to word it right.”

“Take your time.”

You take a second, thinking, Heather takes a couple of drinks of her beer and takes out her hair, the red scrunchie going around her wrist. You get distracted by how goddamn beautiful she is with her hair down before going back to how to word it right.

“My Dad got sick and Mom practically lived at the hospital to the Dunnstocks let me crash at their place when they could. Poor Martha, I was the _worst._ ”

“I need to meet her, putting up with dramatic teenage you, you’re already a handful now.” She swiftly changes the topic of conversation, you give her a small grateful reply before giving her a mock glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re a mess.”

“Meanie.”

“That’s why you love me.”

If only she knew how true that was. You both take another drink. She sighs and has another drink before leaning back and letting the stress of selling paper wash off her. You watch her, as she leans her head back, showing off her impressive jawline. That feeling of want makes a small resurgence. You take another sip of beer. You relish in the silence, similar to the one you share with Martha but different enough that you have a small ball excitement in your stomach whenever you have it.

“So, are you and JD dating?” She says, breaking the silence. 

You choke on your beer.

“I’m sorry what?” You splutter, Jesus, is that what she thought?

“Oh, so you guys are just fucking.” The thought of that makes you laugh this time, your throat hurts from choking before but you can’t stop. Heather looks a weird mix of concerned, embarrassed and pissed off.

“We’re just friends.” You clarify, she blushes, staring at her beer for a second before putting it on the table.

“So you and Bo Didley aren’t…?” She makes some vague gestures that are so awkward from her that is completely surprises you.

“No, is this what” It’s your turn to gesture awkwardly “that whole thing was about?” You laugh slightly, why the hell would Heather be jealous? She blushes and looks to the floor.

“Heather?”

She turns to you and kisses you, square on the mouth. You’re frozen for a second, you’ve wanted this for so long, so move Veronica you _idiot._

“Is this okay?” Heather mutters against your lips, she sounds scared, her voice wavers on the okay.

You’re terrified, what does this mean? Are you together? Is this a one night thing?

You decide to ignore your questions and focus on the feeling of Heather’s lips against yours.

You nod and finally kiss her back, her lips are soft and pliable under yours and your hand meets her hair; it’s slightly knotted but it’s silky and smooth and you could play with it forever. Heather makes a growling noise from the back of her throat when you bite her lip and a familiar heat starts to pool in your stomach.

Fuck.

This isn’t one of those kisses where you can blame it on the moment or just pretend it never happened, there’s a purpose to this, a purpose that will make you end up on your back on your bed.

She kisses possessively, she’s demanding, she’s pushing you against your sofa and straddles you and pulls your hair while bringing you somehow even closer. She’s so beautiful over you, leaning down to kiss you. Her tongue is in your mouth and you’re sucking on it and your hands are sliding under her silk shirt and touching even softer skin, Heather sighs against you. Your kisses halting for a second before she leans in and takes your breath away again. Her flowery perfume invades your senses.

She’s everywhere in the best possible way, you thought your first kiss would be soft, gentle, this is _not_ that.

You love it, she doesn’t mind that your teeth clack against hers or that it’s messy and wet, she pulls you closer when you lean forward and wrap your arms around her back. You can feel her warmth through her clothes as she makes a noise in the back of her throat as one of your hands slips under the back of her shirt.

There’s a moment where reality hits the both of you and you end up leaning back against your sofa.

She stops, breathing heavily, her forehead resting on yours, her arms on either side of your head.

“What are we doing?”

“I don’t know. I just know I like you.”

“I like you too.”

You stare at each other for a bit longer until you break the silence.

“This is fast.”

“Yeah. Do you want to?”

“Yeah. This is a very bad idea.” You say, Heather staring down at you through her eyelashes and fuck is it doing things to you. You’re trying to focus on all the reasons that this could go wrong but she’s on your lap and she’s almost panting and her thighs are so soft under your palms and this is what you’ve _wanted._

“Yeah.” She runs a hand through her hair before it falls into her face again. You’re so focused on the movement that you don’t notice that she’s biting her lip.

Fuck.

You want to be doing that.

“I don’t want to stop though.”

“Me neither.”

“So why have we?” Her voice is husky and it makes you shiver slightly. Your hands flex and grabs her ass slightly; she makes a strangled noise that you want to make again.

“What’s going to happen if we do this?”

“I don’t know.” She admits.

“In the morning?” You ask, somehow even closer than before.

“In the morning.” She confirms, then she pulls you in and kisses you for the second time this evening.

It’s softer that the kiss earlier, but only slightly.

You focus on the feeling.

You focus on her, the way she’s holding you neck, the way her tongue moves against yours.

She must get bored of the feeling and she pushes you back, staring at you for a second before kissing you, once, soundly before moving and nibbling your ear. You feel so hot everywhere, you want to touch and be touched so badly. God, it’s been so long since you’ve been touched, been fucked, you’re so happy that it’s her doing it. Your hands grab her ass again and she lets out a strangled moan into your ear; it makes you shiver. She starts leaving open mouthed kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing with her tongue, she quickly figures out that you moan louder the heavier the bite, some part of your brain is thinking about the concealer you’ll have to leave on your neck but it’s at the back of your mind when your hands travel up the back of Heather’s shirt and you feel her soft, warm, skin and you dig your nails in ever so slightly and her hips buck against yours.

She grabs the back of your head and pulls you in for another bruising kiss, god, you could do this forever, but you probably shouldn’t because your underwear is getting ruined more and more by the minute and if Heather touched you, you’d probably cum on the spot with how worked up you are.

Okay, damn Veronica, you’re not that horny surely?

Yes, yes you are.

Heather pulls away, you follow her lips but she pushes you back against the sofa.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?”

You nod and stand up, her still in your lap, she makes a small squealing noise and holds onto you tighter as you move toward her room.

“Okay but that’s kinda hot.” She mumbles in your ear before kissing down the side of your neck before you set her down on the bed. You take off your shirt, you’d forgone wearing a bra today, a surge of embarrassment comes to you but then her eyes hungrily roam your body and you just want to stay like this forever. She does the same, undoing her blouse and throwing it somewhere in her room. You lie against her, skin against skin, fuck, this is not what you expected tonight, but you’re sure as fuck not complaining.

You fall against her, kissing her again, you stay there for a second, putting your thigh in between hers before she flips you over so that she’s straddling you again and puts her hair up in her scrunchie. She eyes you the entire time, you wonder what she’s going to do to you. Whatever it is you hope that it’s quick, you feel like you’re about to burst.

Heather moves her legs so she fits in between your thighs. She moves down to your neck and bypasses all of her previous work in order to nibble at your collar bone while her hands scratch up your thighs, you make an almost pathetic whimpering sound at the feeling, your hands coming up to hold her closer. She looks up at you for a second, grinning slightly smugly at the sound and you whack her slightly, she lets out a low chuckle before moving further down. She teases the nub of your nipple, with her teeth before her mouth encloses around it, fuck, it sends shockwaves right down to your core. Her other hand meets your other breast and starts kneading it in a way that’s so different from when you do it.

You wish you could have more coherent thoughts but the more Heather touches you the more your head clouds with lust and you never want her to stop touching you.

She doesn’t stop in her conquest even further down your body, she stays at the top of your trousers for a second, nibbling at the sensitive skin, one hand coming up to twist and tug at your nipple in a way that mixes pleasure and pain perfectly.

Her hands rest on your belt and she looks up at you, checking if it’s okay, you give her a nod and you help her pull your trousers down your legs. She delicately pulls your thighs next to her head and kisses the inside of your thighs before coming up to the front on your underwear. She hooks her finger around the top of your boyshorts and tugs it down. You remind yourself that somewhere at the back of your mind that they lie, twisted around your ankle but you’re quickly reminded of where Heather is instead.

She moves her tongue, casually, through your folds, humming at your taste.

Fuck.

You let out a moan that makes you happy that she doesn’t have any roommates when her tongue flicks against your clit. She moves back and forth, swirling around, her pattern never repeating. One of your hands pull on her hair to make her even closer, she other fists her pillow.

She’s good at this.

A finger pushes into you and you immediately grind against it. You’re almost constantly letting out little noises, a moan here, a grunt there, little whimpers when she sucks on your clit.

Heather starts to curl her finger, pumping it in and out of you faster and faster. Your hips follow in pursuit, on of her hands, coming up to push your hips back down into the bed. She adds a second finger, then a third, then you’re feeling closer and closer and closer.

The heat that’s been coiled for god know how long suddenly releases, your body stiffens as her fingers continue moving for a bit. She pumps a few times with three fingers, then twice with two then curls the single finger once before leaving you. Her tongue works from your clit to your slit, making you shiver then she moves away.

God, it’s kind of embarrassing how quick you came, then you remember that you haven’t gotten laid in years and that Heather’s tongue is pretty bloody talented.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know that Heather is being smug.

“Don’t. Whatever it is, don’t.”

She answers you with a kiss, her tongue making you taste yourself, you groan slightly at the feeling and grip Heather closer. When you start to feel like yourself again, you flip around so you’re on top.

“My turn.”

\--

After a round, or four, Heather rests on your chest and you finally allow yourself to look around her room.

She has grey walls, which you find uncharacteristic with her for some reason, but then you remember that having bright red walls would probably not make the best environment for sleeping in. It’s tidier than the living room/kitchen area, no clothes (apart from the ones you were wearing) litter the floor. You notice that you still have socks on. Her bed lies in the centre of the room, with one bedside table, filled with a pile of books, an analog clock and some fancy looking lamp.

Her head rests on your chest one hand softly moving it’s thumb against your neck, the other joins her head, her breaths are soft against your chest. You love it all. You’re too caught up in the feeling to really think about what it all means, what is means for your friendship, for how it’ll be once you leave Dunder, for everything really. One of your arms holds her against you while the other strokes her arms slowly and softly.

“You know there’s this part of me that wants to convince you to stay.” She says, quietly, as if to not ruin the moment.

“Stay?”

“At Dunder Mifflin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Your hand stills in its movements and you lift your gaze from the bottom of the bed to her. Heather’s eyes are so open, so sincere and truthful, it’s too much for you to keep the eye contact so you tear your gaze away from her and look back to where the sheets are all bunched up.

“I won’t.”

“I know.”

“We can still see each other, we can have a weekly date night and hang out and stuff, we could do this more.”

“I’d like that.” She admits, smiling bashfully, an emotion you rarely see on her.

“What time is-“ You cut yourself of with a yawn and turn to see Heather looking at you with a knowing smile, you blush slightly.

“Late enough. I tired you out.” She teases.

“Don’t act like you’re not shattered.”

“Maybe.”

You pull her in for one more soft kiss, she smiles into in her hand coming up to rest on the side of your face. It fills you with warmth, the same warmth that you felt when you were joking at McNamara’s house, when you woke up in her arms in Philly – even though you vehemently denied it.

“Now turn around.”

“What?”

“You’re little spoon.”

“No I’m not.”

She gives you a look.

“Fine, but next time.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You turn around, slightly disgruntled but then one of Heather’s arms rests beneath your neck and the other fits perfectly over your waist and it’s even better than in Philly because you know it was meant to happen, her perfume fills your entire room, not just your nose, you can feel her against your back and it feels so perfect.

You start to drop off, she joked about it but she really did tire you out.

Before you get to sleep you feel a kiss on your shoulder and you smile.

You could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, yeah
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed it, join me on my tumblr if you wanna scream at me about this; it's 'its3amandiamverytired'
> 
> Comments are god tier, but i do understand if you don't want to leave one :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry this took so long, writer's block is a biiiitch.
> 
> Anyways, hope y'all enjoy.

You wake up warm, Heather’s perfume encompasses you, and you’re alone.

Half-awake, you pat the bed for the other warm body but you come up empty. Heather’s blinds in here are just as shitty as they are in the living room, maybe that’s why she gets into work so early, she can’t sleep with the way so much sun comes through the window.

Last night was, you don’t quite know how to describe it.

It wasn’t what you expected, not for what was going to happen when you came over, not for your first kiss or first time but you find that you don’t care.

It was perfect for the two of you.

You smell some coffee brewing, some of the fancy shit that you reckon Heather must spend half of her salary on, nerd. You, regrettably, get out of her very comfortable bed and find some clothes to put on, mainly your underwear and shirt. You shuffle out of her bedroom to see Heather’s there, in front of the stove, cooking something, her hair is up in the messiest way you’ve ever seen it, you can see a small purple mark at the base of her neck. Everything about her warms you, you take a second watching her in the one of the most intimate way. It’s quiet, save for the sizzle of something cooking and Heather quietly humming to herself; you’re tempted no to bother her, she looks so contented, but you can’t help but you sneak up and wrap your arms around her, her lack of heels making you ever so slightly taller. She stiffens for a second before melting into your arms.

“Morning.”

“Hey, you.” You give her a small kiss on her neck and she melts into your touch.

“You’re not meant to be up yet,” she turns slightly, giving you a short peck on the lips.

“Is it really so bad that I’m awake?” You give her another kiss, a longer one this time. You feel her smile into it, making you smile, this whole situation sends shockwaves down your spine. You can’t quite explain it, your head feels empty, but not in the bad way.

“Maybe not.” She gives you another kiss before gently pushing you away, smiling in the free way that you’re pretty sure will always take your breath away. Okay, that was completely gross, but you can’t help it, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud. “Now, go, sit, relax.”

“It feels ironic.”

“What does?”

You sit down on one of her bar stools.

“You telling me to relax.”

“Do you even know the meaning of ironic?”

“Gonna be honest, not really.”

You can’t even see her face but you know she rolls her eyes, you can feel it in your soul. The both of you say nothing for a while, instead you just watch her as she glides about the kitchen. Soon, she sets down a pile of eggs and toast in the middle of table, followed by a French press and milk.

“Like a proper housewife.” You tease, taking a bite of toast.

“I _will_ kick you out.”

“No you won’t.”

“Ugh I hate it when you’re right.”

“I always am.”

“Gross.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence and eat for a bit. The conversation that you know you need to have creeping in the back of your mind, you can see it effect Heather after a while too.

“We have to talk about it don’t we.” She finally says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. You realise that this is one of the few times you’ve seen her without her red lipstick, her lips are pink and soft and you’re distracted by them for a few seconds before answering her.

“We said we would.”

“Well, I, uh,” she’s uncharacteristically nervous, you reach across the table and grab her hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just pretty sure I have an allergic reaction to being emotionally honest.”

That makes you snort and she smiles wryly before clearing her throat and letting go of her hands.

“I really like you, like, a crazy amount, like I can’t believe I like you this much.”

“I like you too. Do you wanna put a label on this?”

“I’m also allergic to labels.” You can see her start to close up a bit, turning into the Heather that you first knew.

“Hey, hey, don’t freeze me out again.”

“Okay, okay.” She says, but it’s still a bit shaky and you see that she’s so close to losing it and kicking you out.

“Are you good with the labels conversation?”

She nods.

“Would it be better if I counteracted the emotional maturity with something impersonal?”

She nods again, looking less stressed.

“Chandler,” she smiles faintly, “do you want be my girlfriend.”

She waits a second, staring at her plate of eggs for a second before meeting your eyes.

“I’d like that Sawyer.”

“Cool.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure you were going to say yes.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“You got that right.”

She leans across the table giving you a sound kiss on the lips.

God, you could _really,_ get used to this.

You finish your meal quickly, Heather telling you a story about her ‘crazy Freshman year’, that you were fully prepared to scoff at, but it was pretty crazy. Even angsty, teenage, Veronica would be in awe of how insane Heather’s freshman year was. It takes almost fifteen minutes for you to convince Heather to let you wash up the dishes, and another ten to try and stop her from drying – you lose.

You’re almost done when you hear your phone ringing from inside your pants in Heather’s room, you kiss Heather a kiss on the cheek before running off, figuring that it was most likely Martha and that you had told her that you were probably returning to the apartment last night.

 _4 missed calls from_ Martha

_37 messages_

Shit. You ring her back, expecting the worst.

_“Where the hell are you Ronnie? I thought you’d died.”_

“No I’m still at Heather’s, sorry I didn’t text, I was busy.”

 _“You always text me, you even texted while hooking up in a car once_ and _in a cinema-“_

“Do you have to bring up the cinema thing?”

_“Yes and no interrupting, you’re in the shit.”_

“Because I didn’t text you?”

_“Yes! I thought you were hurt.”_

“Well don’t worry I’m not.”

_“So what got you so busy that you couldn’t text me back?”_

“I, uh, me and Heather, uh-“

 _“Oh my god!”_ Martha exclaims so loudly that you have to pull the receiver away from your ear for a second. _“Veronica Sawyer, did you finally make a move?”_

“Yeah.”

_“And?”_

“We’re together?”

_“Are you unsure about that? Is it a question?”_

“No, we’re together. She’s my girlfriend. I’m hers.”

_“I’m so proud of you, making a move. They grow up so fast.”_

“You’re the worst.”

_“You’re damn right I am. I will interrogate you about this when we meet at the cinema in an hour.”_

“The cinema?”

Oh fuck, you’d forgotten. Cinema, with Martha, the first two ‘Mummy’ movies back to back, you’d gotten the tickets months in advance because it sells out so quickly.

_“You best have remembered.”_

“I have yeah, I’ll be there soon don’t worry.”

_“Sure you did, I know you’ll be on time anyways, see you later, love you.”_

“See ya, love you too.”

You hang up the phone and toss it on Heather’s bed, shaking your head to wake yourself up slightly before the coffee kicks in.

“All good?” Heather asks, leaning against her door frame. You start getting dressed in your crumpled clothes from last night, she watches you intently.

“Yeah, I forgot what the date was. I’m heading to the movies with Martha, and it’s important plans, not just the ones you can sweep to the side so I’m so sorry to head out so quickly-“

She cuts you off with a kiss.

“It’s okay, Veronica. I need time to emotionally hibernate before we finish our relationship talk.”

“Ah, fair enough.”

You smile at each other for a second before you start looking around Heather’s room for your bra.

“So you’re leaving me for, someone new and amazing and a giver of orgasms, for someone you’ve known all your life?”

You find it hiding in the corner and quickly put it on.

“Yup. That sounds about right.”

“Asshole.”

You walk through to put on your shoes then to the small hallway that she’s been blessed with in her apartment, Heather trailing after her. You’re pretty sure this is the slowest you’ve ever seen her move.

“You know it. How about we get drinks, after work on Monday?” You ask, hand on the latch but with no desire to actually open the door.

“O’Connell’s?”

“Nah, I’ll take you to 7/11?”

“Romantic.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun, I’ll show you how us Sherwood losers have fun.”

“Hm. Fine, but I get to choose where we go on our next date.”

“Already on the second date?”

“Shhh, don’t tease me.”

“I can and I will.”

“Go, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You just can’t seem to leave, the easy smile on Heather’s face, her messy hair, the way everything about her draws you in, you could stay here with her forever.

“See you.”

“Bye.”

She tugs softly on your sleeve and you find yourself trapping Heather between you and her small hallway’s wall. Her hands snake around the back of your neck and your lips find hers. Nothing beats the feeling of Heather’s lips gently pushing against yours; it’s slow, soothing, her hands are warm against your neck, the heat spreading across your shoulder and arms. Regretfully you pull away, pecking her once on the nose and checking your watch.

Shit, you’re gonna be late.

“Oh my god, I’ve gotta go.”

Heather’s hands are replaced by the wet heat of her mouth, kissing from the top of your jawbone down to your pulse-point and the area just past where your shirt’s collar is.

“Uh huh.” Is whispered against your neck, the hot puffs of breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You’re distracting.”

“Uh huh.” You can hear her smugness in her tone, the same one that used to piss you off, but now it fuels the desire warming in your stomach.

“You suck.”

“You love it.”

“Jesus how was I scared of you, you’re such a nerd.”

“Okay now I’m kicking you out.”

“Noooo.”

“Dramatic little shit.”

“See you.”

“Yeah, hope the cineplex is fun.”

“Oh it will be, I’ll be without you.”

“Ass!”

“Dick! Bye.”

You leave, shutting the door behind you and walking down to the street below.

It isn’t until you’re on the bus that you realise that you haven’t stopped smiling until you left her apartment, an old man is giving you a dirty look but you don’t care, you’re halfway to love.

You’ve got a girlfriend.

Heather Chandler is your girlfriend, even saying it in your head it sounds unreal, yet it is, she’s the one who cooked breakfast and made coffee and smiled almost all morning.

God this is so new and crazy and great but really fucking insane.

You love it.


	17. Chapter 17

You don’t speak to Heather until Monday.

Well, you don’t speak in person, but you text, you text so much that Martha throws a pillow at you on more than one occasion and a snarky smile on her face that you stick your tongue out at. She teases you all weekend but you find that you don’t care because you’re happy, and you don’t feel lonely.

Everything fits into place. A month or two ago you never thought this would happen, you thought you’d be one of those people who ends up staying in the same office for so long that you end up with no aspirations and start acting like staying there is a prison sentence; but now, now things are brighter, you’ve gained a friend in JD, a girlfriend, an interview for a job, it’s all perfect. Normally, you’d be fucking terrified by things moving so quickly, without you checking on every single thing, every possibility that you could get hurt, that you’ll withdraw further into yourself but no, you feel safe, you feel wanted, you _feel._

“Heya V, how’s it hanging?” Betty asks, leaning against your desk, she startles you slightly, but nothing can drop your mood. You’re waiting for your dinosaur age computer to start up. “I heard from a little birdie that you spent the night at someone’s place.”

“I _knew_ it was a mistake giving your number to Martha.”

“No I got this from McNamara. Tell me everything, Miss ‘I only have four friends and I don’t want to lose a quarter of them’.” She punches you on the arm, lightly, but you play up the pain.

“Okay, ouch, and we’re at work, how about O’Connell’s, after work?”

You look behind her to where Heather is standing in the breakroom, talking to McNamara. She looks goddamn beautiful, her hair is down today, a rare sight at work. Some part of you hopes it’s because of a mark you left just below her ear that made her shudder the harder you bit down on it.

“I cannot wait that long, V, tell me something, me and JD got bets riding on this.”

“You bet on my love life?”

“What’s left of it anyways.”

“Cheeky.”

“C’mon, please, I’ll make the coffee for a week.”

“Fine,” She leans in closer, excited to hear about you and Heather, “she doesn’t hog the blankets.” You whisper as if you’re said something scandalous, she rolls her eyes.

“You are so annoying, Sawyer.”

“I know, I know, it’s the cornerstone of my personality.”

“Will you at least tell me who made the first move, because something tells me it wasn’t you.”

“You mean your bet with JD tell you it wasn’t me.”

“I sense some defence.”

“Fine, I did _not_ make the first move, happy?”

“Oh totally.”

“How much did you win?”

“A bottle of tequila and some tacos.”

“What is JD cooking for you?”

“What? No.” She denies, a little too quickly.

“Is there something there?” It’s your turn to interrogate her, she turns slightly pale. “I think my phone is going.” She starts to leave your cubicle.

“It’s not even nine yet.” You say after her, she subtly, well as subtly as she can, flips you off. “I will get the information out of you Betty Finn.” You laugh as she scurries back to her desk, looks like romance will always be a part of this office, first McNamara and Duke, then you and Heather, now JD and Betty. You’re going to miss Betty when you leave, but you know it’ll be better when you go, _if_ you get the job, but you hopefully should. Even though you have done _no_ prep, but you know you’re good at writing, that should be enough right?

Totally.

Your computer has booted up, and you see that Heather is alone in the breakroom and you make your way to her and grab your second coffee of the day. And, yes you are aware of your caffeine and nicotine addiction and no you will be nothing about that at this current time, you’re a busy woman.

“Morning, Heather.” You say, smiling, excited to see her again.

“Sawyer.”

She nods once at you, before grabbing her coffee and leaving. You chalk it down to a bad morning and brush the brusqueness off, but something about it stings. It sets of an ominous feeling that curls right under your heart. Even if it was a bad morning, she could at least call you by your name, or say more than it at least. You walk back to the desk to your desk, about to ask her if she’s okay, but she’s already on the phone and even when you try to make eye contact it feels like she’s avoiding you.

All your good feelings from this morning are slowly evaporating, for fucks sake, why can’t something stay good for once in your life?

You get out your phone and text her, maybe she’ll talk to you over the phone instead.

**_Hey r u okay?_ **

The response takes a few minutes but she replies nonetheless, the same cold tone in her texts too.

_You know how I feel about texting at work._

**_Have I done something wrong?_ **

**_It feels like ur avoiding me_ **

[Read 9:20am]

That’s just confirmation, you toss your phone on the desk, exasperated with your day already. You do something you haven’t done in a while, you grab your packet of cigarettes and smoke because Heather Chandler has stressed you out.

You stare at the trees across the way, the Spring starting to heat up in that way where it’s cold in the morning but gets surprisingly hot halfway through the day and you find yourself trying to find some shade. You know, in your heart that Heather isn’t really mad at you, well she could be but you have absolutely no idea why she would be so you decide to leave it all up to her. You know you shouldn’t have two, but you light your second cigarette from your first and take a long inhale, watching as it disappears completely, no smoke escaping as you breathe out. The first one is going to your head and you let it hit the wall behind you as you close your eyes and take another hit.

“Veronica.”

“No.”

“Why’d you text me?”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“Oh don’t be childish.” Her voice is a pale imitation of the woman who first came to share your cubicle a few months back.

“You were talking to me fine yesterday, so what’s new?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I know you’re clever enough to know how moods work, Sawyer.”

You never thought that someone saying your surname would feel like someone is stabbing you in the gut, the squeezing your heart. Is not being lonely worth this? Is being happy worth this?

“Are you here to berate me or are you going to smoke?”

She sets up shop a couple of feet away from you, you pass her your lighter, she takes it reluctantly and lights her cigarette, shoving the lighter in your hands. You rub your forehead, willing yourself to stop thinking about her.

You last all of thirty seconds before you turn to her and say your piece.

“Listen, Heather, I like you, I’ve had enough of having a boring, lonely, little life. You make me happy, I want to be with you, but if you can’t even be bothered to look me in the eye at work then I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s going on with you. But either sort it out and don’t treat me like shit, or talk, I can help.”

You stub your second cigarette out, leaving half of it un-smoked, you grumble to yourself about the waste of 20 cents or something. You don’t care enough about it, you just want you and Heather to be good again.


	18. Chapter 18

Something is vibrating.

Specifically your phone, under your pillow.

You have half a mind to let it ring out, but answering it no means that it stops vibrating at this current moment – plus you get to shout at whoever has woken you up.

“What?” You almost bark to whoever is on the other side of your phone.

 _“Veronica?”_ Heather asks. All of you anger dissipates at the pure quietness and sadness in her voice.

“Heather?” You get up and turn the lamp next to you on, it’s around 2am. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry for being a dick.” You’re pretty sure that you’ve never heard her apologise for something before, or at least never heard her apologise and mean it, her voice as sincere as it is sad. You hear her sniffle over the line.

“Are _you_ okay?”

You won’t be able to sleep until you know if she’s alright.

“Yeah,” Her following laugh is watery and you’re up, trying to find decent clothes to wear for a 2am run across town to someone who you’re on bad terms with, but still care about. “Don’t worry I’m alright.”

“Then why did you call?”

“I-“ She stops herself. “I dunno, I’ll go, sorry for waking you up-“

“I’m coming over.”

She sighs.

“Veronica, we have work in seven hours.”

“I’ll bring a spare pair of clothes, I know you have a functioning shower.”

“Really you don’t have to-“

“Do you need someone there?”

“No I’m-“

“Heather.” You interrupt, finding a pair of jeans and a jumper you threw across your room a few days ago. You’re pretty sure that even if she says no, you’ll go anyway, you _need_ to know if she’s okay.

“Yes,” She says, sighing a bit, you could tell that admitting that was the equivalent of swallowing a mug of thumb tacks. You grab some stuff for work tomorrow, well, today, and shove it in a bag. You write a note to Martha explaining the situation, you expect a text in a few hours. You think about what you said before you left her outside the building, you’re not exactly pissed, it’s just some bubbling anger, mixed with hurt, which is honestly the most dangerous emotion because you’re mad enough to do some stupid shit and hurt enough to justify it with something vaguely reasonable.

You try to close the door as quietly as possible, leaving your apartment with the only idea of seeing Heather.

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” You say before hanging up, there’s no buses at this time of the morning, you’ve got to walk there.

The air is cold, not biting and or bleak, just a cold from the lack of the sun and the clouds covering the sky. Sherwood is empty at night, the stars are out in full force, are hidden, so unlike how they were when you showed Heather Orion, and she softened for a second, before she went all defence mechanism on you, and not for the first time. Your minds drifts to all the sides of Heather you’ve seen, the one hellbent on getting to the top, the one infuriated with your every mood, the one infatuated with you. It’s so much, is so little time and yet you’ve fallen – how could you not?

It should take you half an hour to get there, Heather lives on the other side of town after all, you get there in twenty minutes and slightly sweaty from your pace of walking over there. You knock on Heather’s door, quiet enough that you don’t wake any of her neighbours but loud enough that it should be heard by her.

She opens the door, her face a red, splotchy mess. She tugs you in for a hug, the door closing behind you. Your arms immediately encircle her, squeezing tightly as she holds her face against you neck. You can feel the tears against your skin and running into your jumper.

She doesn’t smell like her perfume for once, you’re normally drowned in the smell whenever your near her, but she smells like laundry detergent and some sort of shampoo, you guess, from the way that your face is pressed against her hair. Something feels wrong, even when you stayed over the perfume was somewhere, hidden in a curl of her hair, but now it’s almost as if it doesn’t exist.

“Hey, hey, do you want some water?” You ask, she stills for a second, before nodding. You remember the days after your day died, the second most painful things after grief was dehydration, you cried so much you were constantly light headed and dizzy. You go to her kitchen, taking off your jumper to reveal your Penn State sleep shirt, Heather smiles slightly at that, maybe it reminds her of Philly. She directs you to the glasses and you end up sitting on her sofa, waiting for her to breathe properly and drink her water.

“Sorry, you didn’t have to come over.”

You tut.

“Yeah I did.”

“Thanks. Are you still pissed?”

You think for a second, you can’t lie to her, it’ll make the whole thing worse.

“Yeah, but I still care about you.”

She scoffs slightly.

“You can care about someone, even if you’re pissed at them – isn’t that family?” You try to joke and alleviate the situation, from the way she stiffens you clearly do a bad job.

Shit.

You put a hand on her shoulder. You weren’t transported to McNamara’s front steps this time, you’re here, with her, as she tries not to sigh and drinks a lot of water, slowly becoming less and less tense.

“He just keeps goddamn calling.” She gets out of her gritted teeth.

“You don’t have to-“

“I know.” She snaps at you, your hand jerks off her shoulder. “I know.” It’s quieter this time, you think it’s at this point where you realise that she’s consciously trying to open up. You don’t know if it’s a general trying to open up or if it’s

You’re not quite sure how to react so you just take another sip of water.

“The last time we spoke, he said that ‘you don’t get anywhere as a woman, and you don’t deserve to get anywhere as a dyke.’”

“Heather.”

“It’s just a lot, I’m getting over Grace, I’ve moved halfway across the country, I have no money because Father cut me off because I refused to pretend to be straight for him and I’m sorry that I was ignored you at work, I didn’t know what to do, so I just walled up, _again._ ”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“It’s not about that.”

You swallow and think about your answer.

“Then I accept your apology.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t get like that, Jesus, that’s not the way to go, I know you can get passed that dickhead that’s your Dad.”

She takes a shaky breath.

“Can you talk to me about something, anything?”

“You know I still haven’t prepped for my interview, I keep procrastinating it. I’m tempted to ask this girl from work, you know the one, tall, blonde, obsessed with the colour red?”

It’s stupid, _so,_ stupid but she chuckles a bit and leans down to kiss you on the shoulder, somehow more intimate than cuddling or making out, it makes you shiver slightly.

“I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” She gets out through a watery smile.

She leans against you, gently lifting your arm so you end up cuddling her. Slowly, her tears subside and her breathing evens out. For a second you think she’s asleep until she speaks up – making you jump slightly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, you don’t deserve that.”

“Hey, deserving has nothing to do with it, I like you, a lot. Okay? Remember what I said, talk to me, if not talk to McNamara or Duke or even Betty or JD. Just, someone.”

“But, I don’t want to bother them, Mac and Duke already had to deal with me after Grace, that’s not fair to them-“

“Hey, didn’t you say McNamara was an old family friend?”

“Yeah?”

“So doesn’t she know about your family and your Dad? Maybe she can offer some insight.”

“I- I didn’t think about that.”

She smiles slightly.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want to lecture you, but do you know how this could have been avoided?”

“How?”

“Talking to me, I guessed your Dad was an ass but Jesus, you are not a burden to me, you can trust me.”

“I do, I just-“

“Don’t you dare say be a burden.”

You wipe her tears and kiss her on the forehead.

“What do you want to do? With me, with, us?” She says, breathing slightly shakily.

“I want to go on a date, a proper one.”

She bites her lip and smiles slightly.

“I’d love that.”

“I love you.”

Shit that wasn’t meant to come out.

Fuck, fuck, shit, too much, too soon, you are ready for a ‘thank you’ or a hug or just Heather closing up the way she has done, twice already. Fuck you’re stress-sweating already.

“I love you too.”

That clears your mind completely, it’s blank, like a plain bit of A4 paper, just like what you sell.

“Okay, wow, didn’t expect that, probably a bad time to say that.”

Heather’s jaw drops slightly and she quickly looks away, biting her lip.

“No, no.” She reassures you, her hands wrapping around yours.

“Aha thanks, I’m gonna go let the ground swallow me up.” You stare at the ceiling so you don’t have to look at her face.

“I love you, Veronica Sawyer.”

You kiss her once, twice, smiling against each other’s lips. Nothing like your first kiss, it’s simple, nice, it fills your body with a warmth and comfort that you’ve never felt.

“God, we have work today.” You finally say, coming up for air and breathing slightly heavily.

“Stay, sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

She stands up, wiping her eyes and holding out her hand, you take it and stand next to her, looking down at those blue eyes that cut right through you when you first met, now softened at the edges, hints of love being shown through.

“Oh, my lord, Heather Chandler advocating for communication?” You joke, she hits you lightly on the shoulder.

“Asshole.” She says against your mouth as you give her another simple kiss. She tugs you toward her bedroom, you take off your socks and trousers and lie under the covers with her, lying on her chest, you can feel her heartbeat and it’s all you want.

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I really, really do.”


	19. Chapter 19

Working at a paper company was boring.

Working at a paper?

It’s what you have been craving for years, the writing, the connecting dots, everything.

If someone were to tell you this time last year that you’d be working at a newspaper, in love and genuinely happy, you would have kicked them in the teeth.

But now you are all of those things, and you’re excited to get up every day, you _want_ to go to work.

You _don’t_ get up at the ass-crack of dawn anymore, instead Heather’s alarm – because you spend most of your weeks at her place, but you haven’t quite moved in yet, even though you take up two draws and a _lot_ of bathroom space – wakes you up with some weird thing that she says wakes you up in a good mood, it doesn’t work. But coffee, kisses and morning sex does tend to do the trick instead.

She makes coffee as you shower, the expensive stuff that makes you pissed you have to wash it down with the sludge down at the Westerberg Press – somehow it’s even worse that Dunder Mifflin’s coffee. Speaking off coffee, she still hasn’t owned up to buying the milk the first week she was there, even though you know that she bought it.

Heather makes headway with her Dad, she talks to him, once. It’s a short phone call, where she mostly shouts at him before hanging up the phone. She tells him that she never wants to hear from him again, that his money is dirty and horrid, and so many other things that you feel like you need to wash your ears out with soap, but she smiled after she hung up and hugged you and you haven’t heard from him since.

A week into your new job you go to O’Connell’s to see everyone. Your shoes stick to your floor and it takes you a second to see everyone hiding out in a booth in the corner.

“There she is!” JD almost shouts as you approach the table, he’s sitting in between Betty and Martha, an arm around Betty’s shoulders. You make eye contact with her and raise your eyebrows, indicating that they are most definitely talking about this later.

“Here I am.”

“Hey, babe.” You sit down next to Heather and kiss her on the cheek, leaving a hand on her thigh.

“How does it feel to not share a cubicle with me anymore?”

“No more tapping, it’s absolutely perfect.”

“How’s everyone doing? How’s Flemming?”

“She’s existing, unfortunately.” Betty says. “She’s been pulling her hair out a bit since you’ve left, even with Heather pulling up the slack with the sales we’re way behind, Roger misses you.”

“Roger? Oh, he just needs to get used to the more forceful way that Heather sells paper, she’s from DC you know.” You joke, thinking about that Philly sales conference and how stupid you were with each other. You can’t believe you couldn’t tell how into her you were, you can’t believe that you didn’t notice her slowly pulling down her guard too. You really are oblivious.

“You are lucky I love you.” She says, giving you a small peck on the cheek. Betty and JD mime gagging.

“Hey, you two – actually you three – “ you point at Betty, JD and Martha “ were the ones who told me to get my head out of my ass and make a move.”

“And you didn’t even make a move, Heather had to kiss you first.” Martha says, a teasing smile on her face, you drop your jaw in fake outrage.

“Bullies, the lot of you.”

They laugh, you feel safe. You don’t feel alone, you feel like you could tell these people all of your thoughts and that they’d stay with you forever.

“Have I missed anything?”

“Oh Heather routinely buys us milk, Betty makes the coffee and Ram and Kurt are still jerkwads.” JD says, Betty nodding in agreement. You nudge Heather about the milk and she shrugs innocently, taking another drink of her beer.

“How’s the paper?” Betty asks, everyone leans forward slightly.

“It’s, amazing. I mean, you guys aren’t there which isn’t as fun, and they’re stricter on smoke breaks, but I’ve been meaning to cut back anyways so really it’s a win.”

“Atta girl, I tell you, quitting smoking was one of the best things I’ve done. Now I’ve just gotta quit Dunder.” He claps a hand on the table in joy, making the glasses jolt slightly and a couple of patrons turn to look at the table but you don’t care.

At some point, JD goes to order another round and you lean across the table to Betty.

“Did you get those tacos and tequila?”

“I hate you Veronica Sawyer.”

“Wait what?” Martha asks staring at Betty with a shocked smile on her face, she’s been calling JD and Betty getting together for ages. For someone so quiet she really loves drama, as do you, but you try to keep as quiet as possible on that.

“We bet on you guys and then he cooked me dinner okay.” She’s defensive as she says it, picking at the label on her beer and smiling slightly, the same gooey way that you catch yourself doing at Heather when she’s doing the most mundane things.

“In the words of the immortal Jason Dean, the words he spoke to me at that very bar a few months ago: go for it.”

“Yeah well this isn’t like you and Heather okay? You guys were barely platonic, you woke up with her wrapped around you in Philly.”

“Hey!”

“She makes a good point.” Heather admits.

“Thank you, even before you guys were together there was so much sexual tension, it was stifling.”

“Okay let’s get back to you. JD doesn’t cook for people, literally all I know about his life is that he has a dog, quit smoking and his Dad is a dick.” Heather says, you know it took them a second to get used to each other, but their shitty Dad’s were a good way for them to bond. “Just ask him what is going on with you two, ask him if it’s platonic or not, communication is the only way to go.”

“Look at you being all mature n shit.”

“Don’t deflect, we’re here if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Ugh this is so mushy I’m going to drink some more.” She starts downing her beer and you smile and roll your eyes, everything is just perfect.

Eventually it gets too late for a bunch of late twenty somethings to be drinking, especially when they only have a day and a half to recuperate before work on Monday. It takes some convincing but everyone splits the bill and waves to the bartender, the same one that you scared the shit out of when you finally gave him your ID, even though you’ve been getting drinks off him since you were seventeen. You still remember that shocked expression on his face before he clapped you on the shoulder and smiled, he’s a good guy.

You make your way out of the bar, crowded by all of your friends. It’s gotten a lot hotter recently, the air is barely colder outside and the moon has barely risen. It’s not that dark, you can still see all the joy and on everyone’s faces, it’s infectious and you find yourself smiling along with the rest of them. You hug them all, promising that they’ll text you when they get home, you know that there’s a high chance that Betty will forget but she’ll text you first thing tomorrow. You get into Heather’s ridiculous red car, and hold her hand as she gives you and Martha a lift back home. She kisses your hand every now and again and, no matter how used to it you get, it fills you with butterflies.

“Text me when you get home.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you too.”

You smile into a short kiss and get out of her car.

“Text me.”

“When don’t I?”

She does a U-turn and heads toward her place, you and Martha head upstairs, she’s telling you about how she’s in line for a promotion. You open the door and head to bed, Martha doing the same, as you lie down and try to sleep only one thought reverberates through your mind.

It’s all good, life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, I've really loved writing it and I sincerely hope that you guys have enjoyed reading it.
> 
> Have a wonderful day, wherever you are.
> 
> \- its3amandiamverytired

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed xx
> 
> If you wanna look up my tumblr it's 'its3amandiamverytired' :)
> 
> Comments are fantastic, but please don't feel obligated to leave any.


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